A voice on the wind & nothing more
by MidnightBlast
Summary: A young woman with a past she despises, travels north to Hadrian's wall, curious to meet the evil men her father spoke of. Little did she know, one evil man would end up capturing her heart, forever changing her life. [TristanOC]
1. Ch 1: Traveling

i'm back again. my stories tend to come and go in waves (hey, sorry--schoolwork is a bit much), plus i don't start posting stories until i have them completely finished. and this one is, so woo-hoo.  
i know i didn't list this one in my profile but that is just because i saw the film (fell in love with music), got the soundtrack, sat down and started writing one day. hopefully this all makes sense and is worth the time.

Warnings: medium language, mild sexuality, & mild violence. (later chapters...obviously)

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to_ King Arthur._ Just Mirran, she's about all I can claim as my own. Not even some of lines from the film and from other films and songs can I claim.

(quick note: I took the story of Merlin & Nimue from the end of the t.v./mini-movie _Merlin_. At the end of the film, Merlin and Nimue end up together. Even though, according to that t.v./mini-movie, the Arthur story doesn't coincide, but oh well...I needed the ending for my story to work...oh well....on the whole, I guess its not that big of a deal.)

**Chapter 1: Traveling **

After many years, she was finally on her way. Mirran almost could not believe it. She was going to the fort commanded by the legendary Artorius Castus and his Samaritan knights. She'd heard tales all throughout Britain of his great deeds and fearless bravery—and the knights—as noble and courageous as they were handsome, to hear the women talk. And she'd heard stories from her father of these men—stories of how this man Arthur had turned his back on his homeland and sworn allegiance to a power bent on destroying them all. He killed Britons for spite her father had said.

But from her travels around Britain she could not believe it true. Everyone had all told great, wonderful tales of Arthur and his men. **'_Masses are easily swayed. You know this, Mirran. Never let it lead you astray,'_** her father had once told her. And that was what continually compelled her to work her way northward to the post commanded by this man her father seemed destined to mistrust and hate.

She gazed out at the passing barley and rye fields from horseback. She knew they would grow scarcer the farther north she went. Forests, bone-chilling winters and miles of rocky hills awaited her. Maybe not as glamorous or as warm as the south of Britain had been, but nonetheless it was her choice.

Her father was also up this way. Never too far away from Arthur's post as she understood it. Controlling his followers wisely, waiting for the opportune moments to strike. Apparently even those troubles have not stopped Arthur and his knights from accomplishing missions. _'Thankfully so,'_ a voice inside her said. Even though she had never met Arthur or his knights, they instantly won her favor over her own father.

Merlin had turned bitter towards her after the death of Nimue. It was said Mirran reminded him too much of his wife and so that was why he had her sent away in the dead of night when she was young, but old enough to be on her own. She had been alone ever since. And she hated it. She couldn't be sure whether she even loved her father anymore. Sentencing her to a life of loneliness at such a tender age without her consent seemed to wash away anything she felt for him other than resentment and bitterness.

But rarely did she think of him. Only when in the taverns and bars she'd worked in, she heard mention of the Woads and their latest undertakings, did his name cross her mind.

But mostly, talk in taverns mentioned more the stories and legends of the great, mysterious Arthur. The more she heard, the more her curiosity was fueled and the more she wanted to go.

Now here she was. Trading the warmth and simple beauty of the farmlands and gently rolling hills for the harshness of North Britain, towards Hadrian's Wall. Towards her father—towards Arthur—towards the knights.

* * *

well there's the first chapter. more of an introduction actually...hopefully not too boring. we'll see how the rest goes. review if'n ya want. 


	2. Ch 2: First day on the job

here we go. chapter 2. since the first one is kinda short, i'll post the second one too. hopefully not too boring and/or predictable. enjoy!

Disclaimers & warnings still hold for story as whole.

**Chapter 2: First day on the job**

First evening of a new job always sent nervous shivers down Mirran's spine. No two pubs were alike, and even though she knew Magda and some of the other women, it was always the prospect of unknown customers that unnerved her.

"The knights should be in tonight. They almost always are." Falia said as she moved past Mirran who set down three full mugs for a group of newly arrived soldiers.

"That would be nice to meet them." Mirran replied, knowing her words paled in comparison to her thoughts. Arthur and his mysterious, skilled Sarmatian knights were what ultimately brought her northward. The only one she knew anything about really was Lancelot as the women spread rumors amongst themselves that he was the handsomest. _'As if they really knew…but he's still just a name.''_ Her father had his mind dead set against Arthur, Lancelot and the rest and she wanted to find out for herself just what her father found so evil about them.

Business started out slow, as usual according to Magda, and Mirran frequently found herself glancing towards the door, looking for noble, respectable men. But then, business picked up and Mirran found herself on constant trips from the bar to tables, carrying mugs and plates, smiling, laughing and sharing her name with the locals who recognized her as being new.

"Here you go, gents—four mugs," she paused listening to their questions, "yes, I am new here—name's Mirran." She smiled graciously as one complimented her before turning to head back to the bar.

"Magda's found some fresh blood I see…." Her eyes locked on the dark brown eyes of a man with short curly black hair, dressed from head to toe in worn black leather. The look of his eyes was almost sinister, yet they belied a deeper sense of hidden care and understanding—and the look about him suggested he only lived for the physical world, what he could touch, what he could kill.

"And you are?" Mirran asked somewhat coldly, not able to think of anything befitting a response to his comment.

"You must be new here…Mirran is it?" He said, smiling welcomingly with a seductive edge to it.

"Lancelot, don't frighten her away her first day here." A gruff, feral looking man with crystalline blue eyes and long, dark blonde hair, some of it braided, said pointedly. _'Lancelot! These must be…but surely these men can't be…!'_

"Sorry," a young man with a friendlier look to his chocolate eyes and black wavy hair said coming around behind her unexpectedly, "he's usually friendlier than that."

"Yeah," a burlier man with a round face and almost bald head said laughingly, "he pulls you into his lap first!" The men around her burst out laughing as she found a smile involuntarily creeping to her face.

"Listen to Bors on that one, Mirran—you're lucky not to be in his lap at the moment." Falia said, approaching the table with mugs of ale as the men cheered excitedly. "Good evening, knights!" She said cheerfully as she slid mugs down the wooden table. So these men were the Sarmatian knights she'd heard much about.

"Falia, my dear—" The youngest looking started to say before Falia cut him off.

"Stop with the words, Galahad—you only ruin them." She said good-humoredly, smiling as he wrapped a slender arm about her waist.

"Then you shan't hear another one from me all night."

"As usual…," Falia said laughingly, pecking his cheek before turning back to Mirran, "Mirran—this is Galahad, in case you were really not listening, rather then just pretending not to—"

"It's impossible not to listen—you hear conversations in this place without even trying." The long blonde haired man said laughingly, looking pointedly at Galahad whose cheeks were turning slightly red.

"And that's Gawain," Falia continued, motioning to the long blonde haired knight, "he's a bit quieter than the rest—but you won't find another man as quiet, mysterious, and frankly frightening as Tristan."

"Tristan?" Mirran asked, mulling the name over in her mind.

"Yeah, him at the end." Falia said as Mirran turned her head and saw a man with dark, mysterious eyes and long dark hair, some it braided, sitting at the end off to himself, watching the others. "And this is Lancelot," Falia suddenly continued, jolting Mirran from her thoughts, pointing at the man with dangerous looking eyes and dark curly hair, "Grenham," a nod from a man with short blonde hair and green eyes, "Bors," a hearty cheer from the big, almost-bald man, "Berkan," a nod from a man with straight black hair and questioning hazel eyes, "and this gents, is Mirran." Falia finished as Mirran smiled and nodded at the greetings from the knights. Involuntarily her eyes traveled down the table to Tristan whose face was unreadable, except for a hint of contentment across his face as he sat, taking a drink from his mug.

"Why does he sit off to himself?" She heard herself ask to anyone who happened to be listening.

"He's a scout," she turned her eyes to Lancelot, "he spends his days alone, so why shouldn't he spend his nights alone?"

"A most lonely situation if you ask me," Grenham said, "or another theory goes that because he spends his days alone he has no words and skills to interact with others." She glanced down at him, a silent challenge and a curiosity about him rising within her.

"I think I might just ask him." She said quietly more to herself, thankful that the other knights were too engaged in another conversation to hear her. She walked down the table, trying to study his face. Despite the stony, unreadable countenance, something about him to scream out desperate loneliness—as though he kept himself distant to spare pain. But she could not be sure, but whatever it was about him captivated her.

"Do you mourn, sir knight?" she asked, catching his attention and meeting his eyes, already knowing the answer.

"I do not. It is my preference to be somewhat alone." He answered shortly.

"No one deserves or should go through life alone," she suddenly said, "what is life worth living then?"

"Do not speak of things of which you know nothing." He spat, a hint of anger tainting his voice.

"What then do you live for?" He looked up at her, his brown eyes boring into her sapphire ones.

"For blood." He answered coldly, hoping to frighten this barmaid away as he was known for doing to others. Instead, a challenged look came into her captivating eyes and she sat down opposite him.

"So that's it—you live to take life from others—why? Do you hate yours so much?" she said, unwilling to believe this man had distanced himself wholly from the one thing that made him human, his heart.

"On the contrary, my lady," he started softly, seeing she was different than the rest, "my life is what is it—I cannot say what would be better or worse."

"Yet you claim to live only for one coldhearted thing…" she trailed off, knowing there was more, and finding herself immensely curious to know what it was.

"Not entirely." He cracked a barely noticeable smile watching the firelight dance in her sapphire eyes.

"My name is Mirran." She said forwardly, regarding this mysterious, dark, even disturbing knight curiously.

"Tristan." He nodded ever so slightly towards her. An awkward silence fell between them as they each tried to sort the other out. Something about him seemed to hold her like a spell and she wanted to know what all coursed behind those dark eyes of his. "I have not seen you here before." He suddenly said.

"No, no one has. I arrived earlier this morning." She stopped, unwilling to explain farther.

"And those you traveled with do not disapprove of your being here?" he suddenly asked, surprising himself. She said nothing but looked pointedly at him, a coldness seeping into her eyes. "You traveled alone." He said, easily reading her face. "I thought no one deserved or should be alone?" he said, watching a spark of anger ignite as he turned her words back at her.

"That is as it should be—that does not mean it does not happen." Her voice was a mixture of anger, sadness, longing, and Tristan suddenly found himself drawn in by the raw truth in her voice. It was something deeper than she was making it seem—an overwhelming sense of curiosity about this woman sitting across from him plagued his mind and he wanted to ask her more, but said nothing, seeing no point to it. A silence fell between them as she tore her eyes from his towards the table to, willing herself to not to linger on the direction their conversation had taken. He suddenly rose.

"Good night, my lady." He said respectfully and distantly.

"Good night, sir knight." She said softly, keeping her eyes from his. He walked on past her and out of the tavern. She turned around towards the bar, rising from the table, finding herself involuntarily drawn to this enigmatic knight and wanting to know him. Something, as tonight seemed to prove, would be rather difficult.

"Don't tell me you two actually had a conversation?" Berkan asked her curiously as she walked by.

"Is it really that unusual for him?" She asked a sarcastic note to her voice, a gentle smile across her face.

"As Berkan pointed out, it most certainly is a surprising thing when Tristan actually carries on a conversation once what needs to be said is said." Bors agreed, before taking a swig.

"You must hold some power Mirran, to get him to talk so." Gawain said warmly, meeting her eyes. A light and knowing surprise came to her eyes as a smile she tried to hide crossed her face—all of which Gawain curiously noticed.

"Excuse me gents—there's work to be done." She said suddenly, smiling and leaving the knight's table to head back to the bar to continue working, trying to ignore the glares from Halaga and forget that look in Gawain's eyes.

Time raced by, time which Mirran would have much rather spent closer to the knights' table, but as Gawain had said about it being impossible not to overhear conversations, she heard much of what was said as she bustled about the other tables doing her job. After dropping off six full mugs of ale and two plates of food, she stopped a minute to breathe and a yawn passed from her lips before she could think to stifle it. Her hand lazily traveled to her neck and she rubbed it gently as she slowly made her way back to the bar.

"You know its unspoken tradition here," she heard Lancelot say as two hands wrapped about her waist pulling her down to his lap, leaning her back against his chest, "for the new barmaids to come home with me." He placed a teasing kiss against the soft skin of her neck.

"I'm not that kind of barmaid." She said determinedly, freeing herself from his grasp and rising.

"Never once?" He asked surprised.

"What business is it of yours to know?!"

"To have worked in a tavern, as you obviously have before, and remain as you claim seems quite a feat." Grenham casually stated as a blush crept to her cheeks, her eyes widening.

"You must possess quite a knowledge of self defense as well." Gawain joined in as Mirran's embarrassment at the situation was growing as more knights joined the conversation.

"At times," she quickly answered, "but most of the men I have encountered have been chivalrous enough not to take women by force—"

"Then you did not come from a Roman commanded fort," Grenham stated wisely, "Roman soldiers are known for their lack of…morals regarding women."

"And what of you knights?" She suddenly asked, a friendly pointed edge to her voice. She saw slightly embarrassed grins cross the faces of the listening knights as she shifted her eyes between them.

"Despite our outward appearances," Gawain said calmly, his smile belying some of the shared embarrassment at such a question, "our hearts are quite honorable."

"Not counting the Roman soldiers…or Lancelot on occasion." Galahad joked, causing the others to laugh and Lancelot to roll his eyes.

"Only once—now I make sure I know a woman's background…" Lancelot said defensively as the others continued their laughter and Mirran's curiosity grew.

"What happened?" She asked smiling curiously.

"Believe me," Lancelot stepped in, cutting off a most eager to explain Galahad, "you do not want to know."

"Maybe I don't." Mirran said wisely, rolling her eyes at their boisterous laughter and heading back towards the bar to get more rounds for newcomers.

XXXXXXXX

It was only later in the silence of her room that she could again hear her own thoughts. All in all, she thought them a good group. What her father found so vile about them she couldn't see. Maybe it was just that they weren't Britons…who could honestly say? Even through Lancelot's womanizing, devilish exterior, she sensed the good heart and intentions that she felt all the knights she met shared. Even Tristan—Tristan, who had constantly been in her thoughts since he'd left the pub earlier. She could not even begin to place what about him gnawed at her so…it just did. She tossed under her covers, desperate to put her wondering to rest, but finding it never ceasing. If only her father could see her now. '**_Mirran—you do not even know the man, so how can you think so incessantly on him?!'_** And honestly, she could find no answer. Slowly she fell asleep, eager to see him again, eager to learn more about him.

* * *

chapter 2. hopefully not too out-there and somewhat believable. review with comments, helpful criticism, whatever you like, if you want. reviews are most appreciated and helpful as they help me to determine whether to continue posting the rest or just pull it quietly off. we'll see. next chapter should be up soon. 


	3. Ch 3: Learning more

thanks for the reviews! they're a great encouragement and help. well, here's chapter 3-hope it flows well. this chapter brings up more of Mirran's past.  
and just for clarification:  
the _'italics in quotes'_ are character's thoughts  
the '**_bold-italics in quotes'_** are words Mirran remembers her father saying  
the **'bold in quotes'** is something newly introduced in this chapter. and i could say i'll tell you now what it is...but it gets explained in a later chapter. (its nothing too important though) but if it really throws you for a loop, i'll go ahead and say what it means-just let me know.

anywho...chapter 3.

oh, i should have mentioned earlier-this story takes place 6 years before the events in the movie.

Disclaimers still apply. Nothing _King Arthur_ related is mine, nor are lines from the film and other films songs that might be recognized.

**Chapter 3: Learning More**

The sun rose the next morning, spreading out its warm and bright light most unusually for a winter's morn. But Mirran had gladly welcomed its warmth as she kneeled by the lake, washing clothes in the numbing, cold water. And even more so now as she walked back towards the fort, watching people till the earth, soldiers stand at ease at their posts, women still washing, and people coming and going. She sighed and turned her head facing forward, surprise and excitement instantly filling her eyes. Tristan's eyes found hers and his walk towards the woods was momentarily forgotten. He swiftly nodded at her and she couldn't tell if a smile graced his face or not.

"Good day Tristan," she said smiling warmly, "are you alright?" She heard herself asking, much to her own surprise. He stopped and looked somewhat curiously at her.

"Should I not be asking you?" He asked her as her eyes filled with confusion. "You spoke with anger in your voice, last we spoke."

"True I did," she quickly admitted, a serious tone to her voice, "but really its nothing." She turned her eyes from his.

"You should tell someone. You'll find anger easier to deal with that way." He said surprising himself and Mirran.

"There is no one I could tell who would not betray me."

"You need fear no betrayal here if your intentions are noble." Her eyes found his again as they seemed to search her for the answer to his question. But he found she was not as readable as he thought, for he could only detect pain and longing, but nothing related to a cause, even though his curiosity was growing.

"And what of you?" She suddenly asked, quickly turning the conversation away from her, "you spoke with anger as well."

"We all do—"

"How come?" He looked intently back at her as the sound of the wind ruffling clothes was the only sound to be heard.

"Perhaps later." He said, inwardly hoping, much to his own surprise, that there would be a later, and a chance for them to talk some more. No matter what he had said to her, she never once shrank away, intimidated by him as several other women had done—and that alone made her intriguing. He watched a small, almost hopeful cross her thin face.

"Perhaps later." She agreed, slowly nodding her head. He nodded once in her direction before tearing his eyes from hers and continuing towards the woods. She watched him go for a minute, oddly excited and apprehensive about her future, before turning back towards the fort, sighing softly, feeling the winter breeze across her cheeks. **'With a sigh you turn away…but your feet are already on a new path…mind your steps and treasure each one.'** Hearing what was to be heard, she continued her walk back towards the fort, well aware of the new course her life was on and not regretting it for an instant.

"Lady Mirran!" She turned and saw Berkan approaching her on horseback. Swiftly and effortlessly, he leapt off and walked beside her, reins in hand. '_Wow…he made that look so easy and smooth…'_ a voice in her head whispered.

"Yes Berkan," she said, smiling welcomingly, "can I do something for you?" She asked, slightly unnerved by his intense, questioning eyes.

"Mirran…I knew I heard your name before last night," instantly she stiffened, hoping he couldn't tell, "in stories…well, rumors really. Rumors only because no one knows if they're true or not. Merlin does live rather secretly, doesn't he?" He asked, pausing to gauge her reaction. Her alert, shocked eyes and falling smile told him all he needed to know. "The rumor goes something like this: Merlin had a lover whom he desperately loved. That was until she told him she was with child. He let her live only long enough to birth the child, before killing her mercilessly. The child, a daughter, he couldn't dispose of so easily since it was after all part of his blood. So, instead of directly killing her, he abandoned her at such a young age, knowing she couldn't possibly survive…but she did. And that is why some believe Woads keep crossing the wall. They hunt for the child who possess dark magic that kept her alive—a magic so unthinkable and evil, that not even a religion could save her from hell," she knew this rumor all too well, "and the name of this ill fated child demon is Mirr—"

"You would believe it true wouldn't you?" She snapped, pulling out a small wooden cross with a small sapphire gem in the middle, and reining in every instinct the attack him. "I know well the religions of Christianity and Paganism, and while Christianity has its merits, it is almost too self-righteous for me, yet Paganism is more to my liking. Believe what you will about me—I am only a mere mortal, nothing more. I admit to nothing—"

"Haven't you just admitted it? Or else why would you care so much what rumors say…and defend yourself so adamantly?" He asked, knowing the deep pain in her eyes and the seething anger that radiated from her clenched fists stemmed from the truth. "I know Merlin of the Woads is your father. I've known ever since last night." He said somewhat triumphantly watching shock fill her eyes.

"The rumors are just that. Nothing more." She turned from him, fighting down her anger. _'Curse you father for continuing to haunt my life—'_ a hand wrapped around her wrist, turning her around.

"Then why are you here?" Berkan calmly asked, searching her eyes. She couldn't tell him…it would be the same as telling the whole truth. Quickly she thought up a lie—she had no other way.

"I came here to…"

"There is only one reason you're here—you're here to spy on us, weave your magic spells around us, so when the Woads find you, you'll use us as your protection or trade our secrets for your life." Somewhere inside she felt like laughing. If it weren't for the fifteen years of pain riding on his words, it would have been amusing for that was quite a theory. "Tell me the truth…and your secret will stay safe. I swear it."

"The truth might be more worth telling then the lie." She said, hoping to get out of doing so.

"Either way, you're Merlin's daughter—that much I know to be true—see, your eyes widen at that statement every time. So the only thing in question is where your allegiance lies. I will not let you be a silent, deadly threat to us." Genuinely she thought he meant his words, but there was some mischievous glint to his eyes she just couldn't trust.

"Tell me Berkan, if my allegiance was to Merlin—or I had plans to buy my life from him—then how would I know of you all? We're the same age—you all were not even in Britian when my father left me—so how could I know he is curious of you?" She asked wisely, an enigmatic edge to her voice.

"Have you not heard the stories—"

"No need. I know the truth." She spat coldly.

"He's a wizard with foresight. He knew we would be along in the coming years so he poisoned you against us. Yet here you are."

"Here I am."

"So why are you here?"

"Like you, all I know are rumors. Arthur and his famous knights. I wished to put some rumors to rest and see for myself the true validity or evilness of your actions. Why else would I be here?" He smirked knowingly at her, shaking his head quickly.

"Smooth answer…very smooth." He backed away from her towards his horse as panic seized her.

"Berkan…!" She called out anxiously, walking over towards him.

"Your secrets are safe Mirran. You can trust me." He smirked slyly, before kicking his horse in a canter towards the fort. _'Oh damn it!'_ He knew more than she was ever going to admit he did. Parts of those rumors had been dead on, but the rest was mere rubbish. Panic gripped her mind as she knew that by tonight her secret would be spread far and wide. '_And damn him!'_ She honestly couldn't say she trusted him and that last smirk of his still hung in her mind, only increasing her doubt. Resigning herself towards packing and getting ready to run, she continued towards the fort, fighting to inwardly calm her burning anger at Berkan's harshly told story, yet finding it reducing only to smoldering embers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So far no one seemed to know anything more. Maybe Berkan had kept his word… _'or else is just waiting for the opportune moment,'_ she thought angrily.

"Rumor has it Merlin sent more Woads over the wall today." Mirran's ears perked and the smoldering embers leapt to life at Galahad's words as she brushed past to serve another table.

"I was on watch for a short while," Gawain said, "there is evidence supporting it."

"Perfect. So Merlin carefully sends his men over, slowly surrounding us, cutting off our escape routes and we do nothing but sit here and wait!" Grenham said, a bit louder than the other knights would have liked.

"Grenham!" Dedric said scolding, "do not alert the whole fort, for that would only further Merlin's evil cause." _'Evil cause…,' _Mirran felt like screaming. She knew what her father fought for, and it was far from being evil. Yet, there was darkness about him, for how could he hate his own daughter so?

"If panic seized this fort, then Merlin's Woads would move to strike, sparing no one." Marvlin said darkly.

"You make them sound like Saxons—" Dedric started.

"The Saxons only claim what they kill." Lancelot said quietly.

"And they only kill everything." Gawain added.

"The Woads would too in their situation—anything Roman is to be destroyed, and everything in this fort is Roman." Marvlin continued.

"Merlin…what a man…" Gawain mused quietly.

"Would most likely kill you in your sleep and not think twice about it if given the opportunity." Grenham said.

"Heartless man." Dedric agreed as Mirran brushed past, feeling familiar emotions tugging at her heart. Even though she knew what her father was striving to achieve, she felt he was going about it the wrong way and knew it not to be purely evil as everyone here believed. Yet, she knew all about his heartlessness, for abandoning her so at the young age of six required him to have no heart! But still, how could this heartless, "evil" man be her father…her own father! She set down the tray and suddenly left the pub, not wanting to hear anymore talk or anything.

Immediately she fled towards the stables, wanting to go for a ride to let go her frustration and clear her mind. She burst through the stable doors, resisting the urge to kick them shut. She walked determinedly to her horse's stall, believing she was alone and let out a frustrated cry. Her hands rested against her forehand and her eyes sank shut as she sighed deeply.

"Damn it all." She muttered resolutely. _'Berkan worrying me out of my mind, my father still pulling me in two,_' her mind raced as she set about preparing her horse for a ride. A dark figure passed swiftly in front of her horses' stall. Her head shot up.

"Who's there?" She called out, a tentative yet firm edge to her voice.

"You wish to be alone and I will leave you as such." Tristan's soft voice came from the other side of the stall.

"Do not go if you don't wish to—I don't mind." She replied, trying to sound noncommittal about his decision, yet partly wanting him to stay. His dark, calm face came into view as he stood against the wall, gazing knowingly at her.

"You're angry again." He commented, a caring tone to his soft voice, noticing he roughness of her actions.

"No shit," she quickly spat back before regretting it as she watched surprise and maybe even some hurt cross his eyes, "I should not have said that," she quickly said, lowering her head in shame, "you asked a caring question because you're concerned and I should not have been so vulgar. That is not how I wish you to think of me—" She stopped short, feeling embarrassment redden her cheeks. A silence fell and slowly she raised her eyes, daring not to look at him, but finding that's where her gaze involuntarily fell. The look in his eyes was that of affection, a willingness and maybe even longing—or was that what she was wanting to see? She didn't know honestly what he thought or what he felt, and that unnerved her.

"I do not think of you that way." His voice held its usual indifference though she thought she saw his eyes lighten in the dimness of the stables.

"Well…I am glad." She said brusquely before swiftly turning back to getting her horse ready for a ride. Was she avoiding him now? Was her anger towards him? No sense in skirting around it….

"Have I done something to offend you?" He asked, a calm curious anger in his voice. With wide eyes, she turned and faced him for but a second as she shook her head quickly 'no.' "Then why is it every time we speak you are angry?" She stopped and looked at him questioningly, knowing she couldn't answer. Did he actually care? Could he actually care?

"Don't ask—you think that because you speak with me and I think you care that I'll just open like a book and reveal my inner thoughts and past to you—" Suddenly it hit her—her conversation with Berkan—the rumors! _'He must have told Tristan…and now he wants to hear me admit to it!'_ "No, no…you couldn't be asking if you don't already know. You think you know…but I am not going to say anything!" She said resolutely, accusingly, watching controlled anger rise in his eyes.

"I do not know what you claim I know—I see a woman who only thinks she is fearless, and whose heart is wrapped so tight in anger that it seems she's forgotten she has a heart."

"And I see a man who lives for blood without a heart thinking he can crack into mine!"

"You're reflecting your anger on me…I'm the nearest target." He said.

"You are not! How dare you think that—"

"Then what has you so angry?" He pressed farther.

"What do you care!"

"Why?"

"Because of my father!" She suddenly yelled, her breaking point reached. "Because of my accursed father! Merlin left me for rot at the age of six—hated me and abandoned me for reasons I can only guess! And everywhere I go, I am haunted by whispers and talks of his name—rumors that he's a cold, heartless, demon bent on destroying all the known world. My own father! …shit." Her hands flew to her face and she rested her head against the horse's side, realizing what all she'd said. An overwhelming urge to wrap his arms tenderly around her overcame him. And yet he remained still, still absorbing all that she unintentionally revealed, while his heart longed to make her pain go away.

So this strong, captivating, woman had quite a weakness that consumed her. She raised her head. He expected a look of tear-streaked anger, but instead met with a look riddled in shame, embarrassment and silent pleading. "I can't expect you to understand…what do you know of what I speak? All you most likely care of is the fact that now you know who I am—someone with a tie to the deadly Woads, someone deserving to be ousted from a Roman outpost."

"I know more than you give me credit," he quickly, sharply said, "I too was ousted from my home—directly by the Roman Empire, indirectly by my own father. We all were. You asked of the anger that night as I did of yours—haphazardly you've told me, and now I've told you. I owe you nothing, you owe me nothing." She bit her lip and shook her head, walking away from the stall and brushing past him, but not quickly enough. He grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back, unintentionally bringing them within inches of each other.

"Going to drag me Arthur now, are you?" She angrily asked, glaring icily at him as she saw the anger return to his dark brown eyes, belying his heart which filled with surprise and some hurt.

"Your father left you, as you said, so why should he or we care if you are here? And while you pose some threat, it is quite obvious you bear him no allegiance whatsoever, not even in your heart." She desperately tried to wrench free of his grasp, not liking the cold, hard truth in his voice, but his grip was too strong. She brought her other hand up to hit him, trying to free her other hand. But before she knew it, he grabbed her other hand and brought it back down to her side, his hand unintentionally grazing the contour of her hipbone, making her breath catch in her throat.

"I told you once you need fear no betrayal…and I will keep my word." He finished quickly and softly, a hint of emotion in his voice, surprising her. He quickly released her and walked away, leaving her alone. Never had she felt so utterly confused, relieved, apprehensive in her whole life. What did this do? _'Is everything now changed?'_ She sighed deeply and left the stables, no longer wanting the peace of quiet of a ride to think, but the noise and rowdiness of the pub to avoid thinking altogether.

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hope it wasn't too out there and that it makes sense. if it doesn't and i've lost something somewhere (highly possible) then let me know and i'll clear it up. review if'n ya want! next chapter should be up soon. thanks again for the previous reviews! 


	4. Ch 4: Night unexpectedly turns to day

hello all. thank you all soooo much for the reviews! i'm pleasantly surprised at the reponsesthis storyhas had. thanks again.  
well here's the next chapter...hope i've not left anything out. i'm kind of sick at the moment (sneeze)(cough), so i hope everything flows well and isn't too abrupt or too random (tried to throw some surprises...but we'll see...). enjoy!

same disclaimers and notes from before apply.

**Chapter 4: Night unexpectedly turns to day **

"Mirran! Where'd you run off to?" Galahad called out gladly, at seeing Mirran return to the pub.

"Our mugs're empty an' we're thirsty!" Bors slurred, already having had several rounds and the night still young.

"Where were you Mirran…you look somewhat upset." Gawain asked, his eyes filling with a caring curiosity.

"I'm fine." She answered a bit quicker than she'd wanted to, for now it sounded untrue. And from the doubtful, still questioning look on Gawain's face, she knew he knew her words were false. She smiled as reassuringly as possible and moved towards the bar to get a pitcher. Almost dancing her way through the full crowd, she made her way back towards the knights.

"And there's Svent…surrounded by Woads, no sword within reach and his pants around his ankles!" Everyone exploded in laughter as Grenham's tale drew to a close, and Svent's cheeks flushed a bright red as Mirran began refilling mugs.

"Watch it, ya scum!" An obviously drunk man yelled across from the room as shattering pottery filled the air. She turned her head around, trying to find where the spill occurred, but no luck. Suddenly, an arm hooked around her waist and pulled her gently alongside a warm body.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Gawain asked her quietly, not satisfied by her earlier answer. She met his light eyes and saw a kind of genuine concern that she couldn't recall ever seeing before. She wrapped her free arm about his shoulders and leaned her head down atop his, kissing his brow softly.

"Thank you for your concern…it means a lot," she said distantly, finding him to be like a brother, "but for now I am fine." She finished quickly tearing her eyes and smile from him. Two piercing, virtually hidden eyes fell on hers. _'Tristan! When did he get here?' _Her gaze turned just as penetrating and surveying as his, sending waves of unnoticeable surprise and admiration through him. She possessed a strength he had never seen the like of in a woman before. Almost any other woman would have shied away under such an intense, searching gaze, yet she held his, daring him to search farther as that only meant she was sizing him up in return. She blinked and turned back to Gawain, whose arm still lingered comfortingly about her waist.

"Thanks Gawain." She said softly as she moved from him and continued her way around the table, filling mugs and laughingly smiling at stray comments. She looked up from the table, involuntarily towards Tristan. The same searching, curious, almost soul-reading gaze was still directed at her. As if he didn't already know the biggest secret of her life, he seemed to want to know more! She moved around the table, closer towards him.

"Don't think I don't see your watching eyes." She said sharply.

"I don't." She blanched at his pointblank remark—'_he wasn't supposed to admit it!'_ He locked his dark eyes with hers once more. Was it admiration, curiosity, annoyance, captivation…a mixture of all four she saw swirling in his eyes? She couldn't honestly say what she saw, but she felt herself being drawn even more in by this quiet, handsome (the more she looked at him, the more she saw it through his long braids, which she felt only added to the look) knight, who seemed to know her without trying too hard, yet regarded her unaffectedly by it. Tristan himself wasn't honestly sure what to make of the woman before him—his heart was increasingly going to her for her strength and captivating determination, yet every sense in his mind screamed at him to stay away from her.

"Why then do you watch if you know I see?" She asked softly, a challenging edge to her voice yet a hidden softer emotion was evident as she leaned down on the table across from him.

"I watch trying to see." He simply quietly answered, smiling ever so slightly. Her eyes fell to the table as confusion filled her mind—'_what does that mean?'_ She pushed it aside, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had her puzzled, and let a hopeful smile with a seductive edge cross her fair face.

"Well, I hope you find what you are looking for." She said airily before suddenly rising from the table and walking away, not even caring to gauge his reaction. She made it to the backroom and pulled out a new jug of ale when she suddenly realized it. She wanted him to. She wanted him to see her, and only her. She wanted him to…love her. She crept to the doorframe and carefully looked out, making sure not to be seen. He now sat nonchalantly eating an apple, yet it looked as though he was deep in thought. She sighed softly, a smile forming on her face as she watched him. She felt so vulnerable and open to his eyes, yet at the same time those eyes seemed to make her believe she was the only other person in the world. And every time they had spoken, despite whatever ran through her mind and escaped her tongue, she had been aware of the hardness around her heart slowly melting away.

But it couldn't be love… '_how could it!'_ She thought bitterly, suddenly emerging from the backroom, disgusted with herself. '_A man shows an ounce of interest, and a pennyweight of care, and I'm ready to give my heart away to him…I don't even know him!'_ She glanced over, noticing Arthur had now joined them, and watched Gawain and Galahad engaged in a knife throwing contest. Without warning, Tristan rose, letting loose his own knife and she watched as it landed squarely in the middle of the target. Her eyes widened and her smile returned. '_Then again…he's not the type of guy who shows emotions…'_ she thought, noticing the indifferent, humble look on his face as he sat back down, amidst the compliments from his fellow knights. _'So maybe he is in my heart…the question is…how deep?'_ She sighed, knowing she couldn't find her answer right now.

Armed with a full tray, she started across the pub towards another table. In the blink of an eye, her balance was gone and her footing lost on a slick puddle of spilled ale. The tray crashed to the floor and a silence fell immediately about the pub as her scream filled the air, instantly silenced as her head banged against the edge of a wooden table before falling motionlessly to the floor. Gawain reached her side first, instantly followed suite by Galahad, Lancelot and the rest of the knights as other customers crowded curiously around.

"Oh gods…." Grenham muttered worriedly, his eyes fixed on the long gash that ran across Mirran's forehead.

"A rag! A cloth…something!" Galahad cried out, watching as Gawain examined her cut and Lancelot checked for a heartbeat. Magda burst through the crowd, holding out a small rag.

"Thanks. …it looks deep, may require stitching." Gawain muttered distractedly as he gratefully accepted the cloth and pressed it against Mirran's cut. Her eyes were shut tight and she lay deathly still, trails of blood all along her face.

"We need to get her out of here and Dagonet needs to see her." Lancelot quickly, quietly said.

"But to where that is the closest?" Gawain said thoughtfully, turning his eyes from Mirran.

"My chambers are the closest." Every knight turned in shock at hearing Arthur's voice.

"Right." Gawain said, nodding in Arthur's direction before turning to Lancelot as they prepared to move her unconscious body.

"Svent—go find Dagonet and tell him to meet us at my chambers." Arthur said commandingly before making a path through the crowd of onlookers as the knights left with Mirran. Svent took off across the fort as Arthur lead Lancelot, who held Mirran in his arms and Gawain who held the rag pressed tightly against her head.

"Poor lass…" Bors remarked, shaking his head, watching as Lancelot gently laid her on the bed and Dagonet walked over, examining the wound for himself.

"What did she hit?" He asked, his words clipped.

"The edge of a table…the ones in the pub." Galahad filled in, his voice lacking its usual lightness. Dagonet pulled the rag away and wiped at the still flowing blood, watching it trickle down her face.

"It's not too deep, fortunately, but it will require stitching." He said reaching for the small needle with thread already in it. Gawain grimaced, as well as did several other knights, at the sight of the needle passing swiftly in and out of her skin.

"Some one will need to sit with her tonight, in case a fever comes." Dagonet said to whoever was listening. A silence fell as the knights all looked between themselves, wondering who it would be to lose a night's worth of sleep and care for Mirran.

"I will stay." Tristan's soft voice broke the silence, surprising everyone in the room, including Arthur.

"Very well," Dagonet said as he tied and broke the thread that now bound Mirran's wound together, "keep this cloth loosely covering the wound…and pray no fever befalls her." Tristan nodded as he moved towards her side.

"Arthur, my quarters are yours for the evening." Tristan said, turning to face his friend and commander. Arthur nodded thankfully.

"Come knights," he suddenly said, "we have council as usual. Tristan, we'll brief you in the morning, once you have had time to rest." Arthur finished as the knights slowly filed out of the rooms, turning their thoughts from Mirran towards bigger issues.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan had sat alone at her side, with a wet cloth in hand, washing away the trails of blood from her face, worry swirling in his eyes. Just when he was beginning to let her deeply in, just on the verge of admitting there was a heartfelt connection, she was reduced to a near death status. And now here it was, sometime later, and she still lay motionless, showing no signs of a fever.

He couldn't be sure how late in the night it was. Thick clouds had rolled in obscuring the stars and moon some time ago, and now a falling rain with earth-shattering thunder filled the night. The only light that was to be seen, save for the bursts of lightening, came from a small fire that filled the room with relaxing warmth on this cold night. Tristan sat near the bed, stretched in a chair, hoping to sleep, but between watching the bewitching shadows dance across her face and the startling, raging thunder, sleep had not yet come. For what seemed like the hundredth time, his eyes wandered lazily back to her. She looked so peaceful, as though free of all earthly claims and problems. His eyelids, heavy with exhaustion, dropped shut, despite the earth-shattering thunder that shook everything to its core.

Two sapphire eyes shot open. She raised her head up on the pillow and cast her eyes towards the window. Lightning lit the world for an instant before thunder roared deafeningly. She closed her eyes, heaving a sigh. _'Not tonight….not tonight,'_ she thought, silently annoyed. She raised her hand gently off the mattress and summoned all the energy and strength she could muster.

The thunder faded…or was Tristan just dreaming. _'Probably dreaming,'_ his groggy mind told him, _'this storm would not disappear so soon._' A silence began to fall…a faint crack of thunder, and then a mere whisper of thunder. His eyes opened in shocked curiosity. Immediately his eyes fell upon Mirran—her hand fell silently back onto the mattress and she snuggled more soundly into the pillow, reveling in the newfound silence. A wind still blew across the fort…but now a mere hint of what it once was. A faint, mystical voice seemed to blow with the wind, a kind of lullaby almost. He shook his head, knowing perfectly well that the wind didn't have a voice. And Mirran's falling hand…had she done something? His eyes fixed on her as he thought over that idea…but that would mean Mirran could do…magic? It didn't seem to fit…but she was after all Merlin's daughter. The more he thought on such things, however, the drowsier he grew and still he claimed to hear the airy song until his mind slipped into oblivion and sleep finally overcame him.

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sorry a bit shorter than the rest, but there ya go. hope not too weird or "fantasy"-ish. oh well...review if'n ya want! next chapter should be up later this week. 


	5. Ch 5: Seeing you as you're seeing me

many many thanks to those who have reviewed the previous chapters!  
here's the next chapter...chapter 5. 12 chapters total, so this story got some more ways to go. hope this chapter flows like the rest...parts of it seemed a bit off to me, but overall i thought it ok.

same disclaimers, notes, warnings, etc.

**Chapter 5: Seeing you as you're seeing me **

Slowly she became aware of the soft pillow. She snuggled into it, breathing deep a most pleasant and unfamiliar combination of pine and earth. Certainly not Tristan's—she would have remembered such an intoxicating scent. Finding her eyes drifting open, instantly she saw the dark unfamiliar linens on the bed…the navy blue sleeve of her dress from the pervious day. Her mind grew increasingly alert as she felt her throbbing head, a sure sign she'd drunk too much._ 'But I didn't drink…did I?'_ She looked to her right and met instantly with Arthur's expressive eyes and small smile. '_Oh no…I didn't…'_ her mind raced, inwardly pleading as her eyes sank shut.

"Before you think anymore on the suggested implications of the situation, let me assure you your presence here is only by necessity." Arthur's calm, assuring voice said, pulling her eyes back open.

"Necessity…?" She questioned confusedly. "What happened to make it 'necessary' for me to come here?" She asked, a clipped, biting edge to her voice.

"You slipped in a mess of spilled wine and hit your head on one of the tables. You were brought here only because it was the closest place for Dagonet to stitch up your wound. How is your head?" He asked concernedly, leaning forward with a wet cloth to wipe at her head.

"Painful," she quickly said, raising a hand to her forehead and gently feeling around the line of stitches, "but it's manageable. At least for now anyway." She said, cracking a hopeful smile as she gingerly moved, trying to sit up.

"You think that is wise?" He asked her, watching as she pulled herself up.

"I have occupied your chambers long enough. I feel well enough to be on my way, thank you Arthur." She said, propping herself up against the pillow, letting her mind adjust to the new found position. "Please tell me you did not sit with me all night—you should not have if you did."

"No, I have only been here for a short time. Tristan sat with you through the night." Her ears perked and she quickly turned her head to him.

"He did?" She asked, her voice small and full of surprise. A knowing smile crossed Arthur's face as he watched the light that filled her eyes.

"He volunteered to." Arthur said comfortingly, watching as a small smile crossed her face. "You've quite a soft spot for him don't you?" Arthur questioned gently, already knowing it to be true. Her look still remained soft, yet now had a surprised, truthful edge to it.

"So what if I have," she said defeated, knowing she could trust Arthur, "nothing will ever come of it." She shook her head, smiling downheartedly.

"You may be more wrong than you know." She cocked her head at his statement.

"I've never it worded that way before…."

"Saying 'right' instead of 'wrong' would almost be lying." He quickly said, watching as her brows furrowed. Did she still not understand or see it?

"Yes…well," she said quickly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed slowly, "I should be going—I've been here long enough." She said resolutely. Arthur instinctively moved to help steady her as she still looked woozy from the hit to her head. Gently, with Arthur's assistance she rose from his bed, and surprisingly, she felt ok on her feet. Her head throbbed surely but it was manageable and did not affect her movement. She thanked Arthur one last time before slowly making her way towards her chambers, yet still she felt Arthur's eyes on her.

"I think I can make it fine, Arthur." She said certainly, turning back to face him, meeting his small smile.

"I think you can too…I can see now what he admires and loves you so for." There, he had come out now and said it, since she didn't seem to catch his meaning earlier. She did not even have to ask who it was Arthur talked of.

"No…he doesn't. He has no reason to—"

"Since when do reason and love have to coincide? He would not have sat with you all night if he did not."

"He doesn't." She shook her head slowly.

"Then you do not know him as well as I thought," she locked her eyes with his, "hope you feel better." He smiled and nodded respectfully before turning down the hallway. A silence fell on the hall as she found herself standing, thinking on Arthur's words. Was he right? Were Tristan's emotions that visible? A faint smile played across her place face at the thought. At the mere thought, the hope—'_Tristan loves me—the hope that deserved to be killed!'_ Mirran turned and quickly fled to her quarters. Such wishful and hopeful thinking only lead to one thing—heartache. '_I'll have no more of that,'_ she thought definitively as she automatically stopped at a window, her gaze fixed outwards. The knights were out in the courtyard, Tristan among them. He and Galahad were practicing archery and she watched in awe as Tristan aimed before releasing an arrow that split the previous one in the target's center. He lowered his bow and he brushed a stray hair from his eyes before moving back.

Somewhere in that moment she knew where her heart lay. This man and this man alone had managed to capture it. Finally she admitted it, powerless to stop her hopeful and excited thought. '_I love him…I do,'_ she thought almost downheartedly, knowing well the dangers associated with love. She moved from the window and walked on, her heart alight with

XXXXXXXXXXXX

By later on however, Mirran was recounting every tale she knew of hell and couldn't imagine it being much worse. The stitches in her head were murder. A constant throbbing that never seemed to stop, and had all day long made her bristly. Every little comment seemed to get to her although she tried not to let it show. And Magda, having seen Mirran up and about deemed her fit enough for work. So, begrudgingly, Mirran set about the usual evening tasks, fighting to ignore the pain and keep smiling.

"Mirran!" The call ripped through Mirran's aching head. "Magda needs more wood!" Her eyes narrowed and rose from the tray she was filling. Only one person would ask her to do such a task in such a state. "Mirran—hop to!" Halaga's face appeared in the doorway, smiling darkly, "and don't forget—Magda likes a lot." Mirran grumbled incoherent curses under her breath as she returned Halaga's dark smile, throwing her cloak over her shoulders.

She walked towards the gate, dragging the small firewood cart behind her. A bitterly biting wind swept through the gateway as she left towards the woods, sending shivers up and down her spine. _'At least it somewhat numbs my head,'_ she thought, relieved. That was about the only good thing she could say about it as already her fingers and toes felt frozen.** 'You are being watched…by the one you watch…but whom you don't see, yet hope to see and be seen….'** _'Now what the hell does that—'_

"You should not be out here alone." She spun quickly around, eyes wide with sudden fright. But wait…she knew that voice, those dark eyes.

"But…," she sputtered, "I am not alone." She said knowingly. His eyes narrowed seriously.

"You were alone before I cam upon on, and you should not be," he repeated slowly, a note of annoyance in his voice, "not outside the fort walls, and certainly not wounded."

"I can fend for myself if need be." She said sharply as she turned from him to place the wood from her arms on the small cart.

"I find that hard to believe." He said, doubting her words. In his experiences, people always thought themselves tougher then they were, which only ended in trouble. And to look at her, she certainly looked weak and borderline ill—there was no way she could defend herself.

"I don't need your or anyone else's protection." She said coldly before turning her eyes to the ground and resuming her search for firewood. Tristan watched her, amazed at her brashness and carelessness. She had no weapon with which to significantly ward off an attacker and she wandered about the woods outside the fort walls full of roaming Woads and other dangerous folk. Plus, she was deathly pale—as though she wasn't fair enough in the midday sun, against her dark clothing and dark hair, she looked white as stone. _'No thanks to her head injury. ….she's freezing cold,'_ a voice in his head whispered concernedly. Sure enough, he could see her shivering—even though he knew she was doing her best to hide it.

"Come on…," he said softly walking towards her, "let us return."

"You may go back if you so wish." She let her eyes, smoldering with annoyance, rise to his.

"I cannot in good conscience leave, knowing you are still here." He said, his annoyance with this woman's stubbornness returning.

"I am not done yet. There is still more wood to gather. Magda expects—"

"If you stay here much longer, you could be done for." He suddenly said, catching her by surprise. She looked up at him with a truthful, feigned-shock look. Did he really care? Had it been that noticeable how cold, and in pain she was? She'd tried desperately not to let him see it, but he had. She turned from him, laying the wood out on the cart willing her sudden shivers at the blast of wind to stop as she drew in a sharp breath. A warm, heavy drape fell about her shoulders, instantly blocking the biting wind and relaxing her tired muscles.

"I thank you for your offer Tristan," her voice was laced with exhaustion, "but I do not—"

"Do not lie. Your stubbornness is overwhelming. It is as though you would rather die than inconvenience another or have them know your weaknesses."

"You and the other knights are the same—"

"Wrong. We have been tested and tried for nine years—we know our limits well." His words betrayed a controlled anger that coursed behind his stoic face and dark, unreadable eyes. He found this woman was borderline impossible, but why could he not get her out of his mind!

"Still…I do not need your—"

"Indulge me then," he suddenly said, surprised at the gentleness of his voice, "whether or not you need it, just keep it to indulge me." He barely smiled and found all annoyance with Mirran vanish as she smiled thankfully and warmly up at him.

"Thank you." Her voice was a mixture of defeat, gratitude, sadness, happiness. She was reveling in the warmth, loving every bit of it, but at the same time, hating herself for loving it so. She wished herself stronger then she was. And she hated the reality of her own physical weakness—_'damn my sore head.'_ She snapped from her thoughts when she heard the rumbling sounds of the cart against the roots and rocks of the forest floor.

"Tristan! I can get that; you do not need to—"

"Woman, will you let it rest?" he suddenly snapped, turning to face her, finding it effective to cut her off mid sentence, however improper it seemed, "I do not think you weak for letting me help." He finished a bit more harshly then he meant to. She instantly was taken aback and her eyes fell from his. He'd hit a nerve—and despite his words, something in his voice lead her to think otherwise.

"Very well." She said her voice small, all protest lost. She began to walk back towards the fort, followed closely behind by Tristan. And this man was the one she had claimed to love? This man treating her as though she was made of glass…? She found nothing more to say to him or him to her, and they walked on in silence, contemplating the other and wondering.

XXXXXXXXXXX

No more words passed between them that night. She had nothing more to say to him. Without trying, he had wounded her pride. That accursed pride of hers. She strongly disliked it, but at the same time it's what kept her strength up through the years of living alone. Pride at being able to do things herself, and strength to do things most women would not do. Women in the forts were on the whole treated to the more delicate tasks in life—housekeeping, cooking, washing, mending—and were on the whole regarded as weak. Mirran loved the whole idea of being just as strong, being on equal terms with men. And Tristan last night, shattered that whole idea. Not only had he proven to her she would never be as strong as she hoped, he had treated her like…like a child almost—unable to do anything for herself.

Fortunately for her, her head hurt less the next day—her skin having grown used to the thread binding the wound together—or else she just might have attacked him the next time she saw him.

She had spent the whole of last night, laying in her bed, convincing herself she felt nothing for this man. How could she when he had angered her so—and she would have been just fine on her own last night. Of that she was convinced. _'Who knows what could have happened…maybe he knew something I didn't…'_ a tiny voice in her head whispered. She glanced up from the mugs she was washing when she heard the tavern door open again. In filed Svent, Grenham, Bors and Lancelot, with Tristan last. Her eyes narrowed slightly, belying the excited feeling in her heart. Fortunately enough, Falia had seen the knights enter and rushed quickly over with ready mugs, no doubt as to inquire where Galahad was.

'_Good thing too,'_ Mirran thought silently, for she honestly didn't know what to say to Tristan about anything anymore. And the last thing she wanted a public scene of awkwardness between them. But she kept finding her gaze throughout the evening involuntarily wandering over to the knights table, in particular to Tristan—always checking to be sure he was there. Something about the knowledge he was still there seemed to make her work a bit more diligently and efficiently, as though aided by some strength she didn't know she had. She glanced up and over, for what must have been the hundredth time, and noticed him leaving the table. He walked unnoticeably to the door and slipped quietly out. _'Where does he go at night? He always leaves sometime earlier than the rest,'_ she silently wondered, curiosity filling her eyes. Without waiting, she grabbed her dark brown cloak and threw it airily about her shoulders, ducking out the tavern door quietly.

The moon was full tonight but shrouded behind wispy clouds that cast elongated shadows on the world below. But still she could see him and easily, quietly follow him. His movements seemed that of mere shadow—silent, swift. _'Those of a true scout,'_ her mind whispered. He did not use the main gate, but instead stole away to a concealed passageway leading directly into the woods. '_Most likely for emergency escapes,'_ she guessed as she followed behind him a good distance. Once in the dense forest, it took much more effort to discern him from the tress and wildly growing vines—and to make no noise, for she knew if he heard one branch snap or a leaf crunch, he'd spin around. He stopped ever so often and cast his eyes skyward, letting loose an airy whistle as though trying to summon or contact something. He stood still just long enough…Mirran drew quietly closer.

"Now that I find you here alone, can I scold and drag you back?" Only his eyes registered the true shock he felt—he could have sworn he was alone.

"Mirran…" his voice while sounding a bit annoyed also had a distinguishable not of gladness about it which made her heart race.

"May I ask what has brought you outside the fort after you told me it was no place to be alone?" She asked, careful to reign in the bitterness in her voice.

"Injured in your case," he started before quickly turning his eyes skyward, "I came to look for my hawk. She has been out hunting and not returned as usual—I fear these shadows may have slowed her some. And I enjoy the peace it affords me." Mirran nodded her head. His last comment drifted in her mind, but what she thought on was the shadows and shrouded moon. _'I could fix that.'_ "I know you could change that—the shadows." He suddenly said, surprising even himself. He cursed himself mentally for letting that slip; she was Merlin's, a wizard's daughter, so why shouldn't she have magical powers? But the way it sounded, it smacked of being selfish and uncaring for her. She held too dear a place to him for him to ever want her to believe such things.

"Wha…how?" She sputtered, completely surprised, all anger and resentment lost in the suddenness of his words. _'He knows of my powers. HOW?'_ Her mind was reeling and there was clearly not point to deny it. Silently he brought a hand up, then lowered it swimmingly just as she had done that night she was wounded, the night of the storm. She knew right away what he meant. Words were not even needed.

"Natural elements, yes, I bear some power over." She softly said, lowering her eyes, seeing no reason to lie to him.

"That is quite an ability." He said, his voice retaining its usual indifference, his eyes showing admiration. She did not nod, say anything or meet his eyes in return, for fear she would find herself lost in his eyes—as her heart was wanting—but instead looked skyward. The wispy clouds had grown somewhat thicker, furthering the weak moonlight. She lowered her eyes, closing them gently and raised a hand. Gracefully, and smoothly, her fingers wove tiny circles in the air. The clouds thinned and disappeared altogether, flooding them both with moonlight. He looked at her, noticing the moonlight in her sharp sapphire eyes. What about her captivated him so—made him want to hold her close?

"You have no power over people?" he heard himself ask.

"No…my father did, some others do—but I do not. My realm lies only within nature." A screech sounded out of the darkness and a hawk flew out of the trees landing airily on Tristan's arm. He raised a hand and gently stroked the hawk's feathers.

"There you are, girl. Not hungry anymore? Ready for sleep?" Never before had she heard his voice so laced with emotion—so sweet, so soft, so caring. _'As though talking to a child…or a loved one…'_

"You care for her a lot, and she obviously has a similar affection for you." Mirran said, walking over closer to him.

"She was just a hatchling when I found her and has since been my friend." He said softly, gently. The bird turned and cocked her head, regarding Mirran curiously. She took from Tristan's arm and landed swiftly on Mirran's arm. Startled, Mirran looked at the hawk carefully in its dark eyes as she cautiously raised her left hand to it. The bird studied the fingers for just a second before allowing Mirran to gently stroke her feathers.

"I am surprised she is so readily trusting of others." Mirran curiously said.

"She is not usually. She senses the trust I have in you and trusts that." He said, crossing closer to her. She turned and looked warmly at Tristan, finding it even more impossible for her not to give her heart to him.

"Thank you…," she softly said, meeting his dark eyes, "most when they learn of my magical abilities lose all trust and faith in me."

"I have no reason not to. You could have easily lied about them to me, but you did not. You proved it even more." He could not believe he was saying so much to her. Never before had he found himself able to speak to anyone so freely. Without warning, the hawk lifted from Mirran's arm and soared silently away into the night. Mirran, fascinated with its grace and swift movement, watched its every move until she could no longer be seen.

"More hunting?" She shortly asked.

"No, she's off to sleep now."

"Should we not be getting back as well?" She asked, lowering her eyes from the starry sky to Tristan. He did not say anything or nod, but let his eyes meet hers. She felt herself melting…she loved the feeling such a focused look sent through her. _'Who am I trying to fool?_' She wondered pointlessly—she loved him and no amount of nights could ever convince her otherwise. _'If only he felt the same…'_ she wondered, pleaded. They stood silently; mere inches apart, studying the other as if to learn the other's thoughts. Instantly their lips were locked together, hers gliding smoothly over his as he kissed her fervently back. It was so right. This kiss…was what she had been wanting. His arms wrapped gently around her pulling her in close against him. She felt so good in his arms. Her arms pressed him tight as their kiss deepened, never wanting it to end. Neither one was sure who started the kiss, but both were equally glad it happened. She laid her head on his shoulders for a brief instant before they pulled apart and made their way silently towards the fort.

They walked side by side—and without warning she reached over and took his hand in hers. While surprised at her forwardness, but also finding something endearing about it, he smiled to himself and laced his fingers through hers before squeezing it gently. Her heart swelled. He had to feel the same as she. That kiss had been no lie…and never before could she recall such a feeling of happiness, excitement, relief. They made it back to the fort, slipping through the passageway unnoticed and sharing only a hand squeeze before parting ways.

* * *

there ya go. hope you enjoyed...sorry if too cliched at the end, but it just seemed to work and i thought it sweet (i'm a hopeless romantic...what can i say...?) review if'n ya want. i hope to get the next chapter up byearly next week, but i've 3 exams and a speech to write...but this story will be updated at least once by end of next week. 


	6. Ch 6: Thank gods for a watching friend

merci beaucoup to all reviewers! thanks for sticking with it so far.it means a lot.  
chapter 6.hope its up to par flows with the rest (that's one of my biggest issues as a writer...making sure events all tie together from chapter to chapter and that the style stays consistant throughout a whole story-trying to work on that). any other suggestions, comments, constructive criticisms are most welcome! they only help me become a better writer.

same disclaimers warnings...

**Chapter 6: Thank gods for a watching friend **

Never before had she awoken with such an excitement in her heart. That kiss with Tristan has played time and time again in her mind—she couldn't have imagined it being any different or better. Of course, she wasn't going to publicly parade it around—she knew that wasn't what she wanted, and as closely as Tristan kept things guarded, she was sure he didn't either. So today had to be lived as every other day, except today she had every reason in the world to keep smiling, despite the glaring stitches in her forehead.

XXX

Being able to carry ten mugs of ale around a crowded tavern was always something Mirran prided herself on. Most other barmaids she'd worked with could barely carry six without spilling or dropping, and Mirran could carry ten and hardly ever spill a drop. _'Well after fifteen years of such work anybody would be able to.' _

"HURAH!" A large man leapt up from his seat, causing Mirran to stop dead in her tracks, almost dropping a mug. She sidestepped around the celebrating man and delivered a few of the mugs to a group of thirsty, lusty-eyed men who had just entered. Smiling gracefully at them all and ignoring their offers of companionship, she made her way with the remaining mugs to the table where the knights were gathered, laughing, eating, and drinking.

"You have no woman on your lap, Lancelot…don't tell me you're losing your touch?" Mirran said teasingly as she approached.

"Nay, dear lady," he responded, smirking seductively, "I was waiting for you."

"Then you can just keep waiting." She said, brushing past him towards Gawain and Galahad who were engaged in a knife throwing contest as usual.

"Mine is closer to the middle than yours." Galahad protested.

"The point is to hit the middle…we both lost." Gawain calmly said.

"We can't both lose," Galahad said exasperatedly, "then what's the point of the game and contest?" The soft sound of a knife piercing the air and thunk, a third knife was now on the stool, having landed squarely on the tiny handle of Galahad's knife. Both looked equally surprised and they turned and saw Tristan, nonchalantly eating an apple.

"Tristan…how did you do that?" Galahad asked dumbfounded.

"Easy…I aim for the middle." He quickly said. Mirran couldn't help but laugh. Gawain shook his head unbelieving as he pulled his knife from the stool and rejoined Lancelot and Tristan at the table, leaving Galahad to study the two knives still in the stool.

"Ah, a fresh mug of ale—Mirran, you bring the ultimate consolation prize." Gawain said lazily as she placed the full mug in front of him, smiling.

"You make losers feel like winners." Galahad said sweetly as he slid Tristan's knife down the table to where he sat, before welcoming a full mug from her.

"Your charms are wasted, Galahad. She already graces another's bed." Lancelot knowingly said, watching Mirran to gauge her reaction. He thought he saw her smirk ever so slightly as she walked around to Tristan.

"Don't you just love apples?" She asked him, meeting his dark eyes. His mouth full of the juicy, fruit, Tristan shrugged, an indifferent look playing across his handsome face. "I love apples," she continued, "I try to eat at least one every day." She walked past him, smiling and winking. Tristan turned and watched as she wove her way through the bustling, noisy ruckus of the tavern.

"She may grace someone's bed, but that doesn't necessarily mean that man has her heart. She does work in a tavern after all," Galahad was speculating, "so that means she is able to be swayed." Tristan turned, a small flame igniting in his eyes, much his surprise. Somewhere in his heart, he felt possessive of Mirran and knew he had her heart, just as he was admitting she had his. And hearing Galahad speak of her as being so common sent waves of anger through him.

Mirran continued to weave her way through the crowded tables, careful not to bump into any of the men, for fear of starting trouble. Two thick, rough hands seized her waist and she fell backwards onto a flabby leg, her back pressed against a warm chest.

"You have brushed past me all evening and failed to notice my loneliness," a hot breath, laden with alcohol, said in her ear, "however, maybe after some thorough goings over, you won't fail to notice me again…." The man whispered suggestively in her ear as his rough hand began sliding up her thigh, bunching up her dress. She wheeled around in his lap and slapped her hand across his thick cheek, leaving a stinging, red mark in its place.

"I am not yours to be had." She softy, angrily said before the man could recover and immediately flew off his lap, walking for the bar. She dared not to look back at the man, for fear he would see the tears of anger and fright forming in her eyes. But Tristan could see them from where he sat, as well as Gawain, whose eyes had been following her ever since she'd left their table.

"Mirran! These mugs belong out back with the rest of the broken ones." Magda called out, shoving a box of broken mug and jar pieces into Mirran's open arms. She pushed the door to the tavern open and walked into the brisk, dark night air. The moon's cycle had just finished, leaving only the faint light from the stars to light the world below. She walked to the back of the tavern and emptied the box of broken pieces into the barrel of other broken pieces. She thought the whole idea pretty clever really, reheating and reworking the broken pieces to make new mugs and jars. Slinging the box down by her side and sighing, she turned back towards the tavern, anxious to get back to where it was warm. A massive shadow of a man suddenly loomed in front of her, blocking her path.

"So, if you're not mine to be had, then where is this man to claim you now?" Fear seized her heart. The rough man from the tavern earlier had her cornered, and alone.

"There isn't anyone to claim me." She spat, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. Her eyes widened and the box fell from her hands as the man moved towards her.

"Then there will be no one to miss you." Before she could think, the man's hands grabbed her wrists and pressed her arms to her side as he slammed her against the wall of the tavern. His mouth crushed against hers, effectively cutting off her screams of protest. He let go of her hands as they were now trapped between him and wall, and began ripping away at her dress, wanting her more and more.

"No—sto—" He slammed his lips against hers again, silencing her scream. She felt her dress falling away and his hands traveling lower and lower on her skin. _'Oh gods not like this! Please, not like this!'_ Her mind was screaming, her heart was breaking. Instantly she felt free from his powerful grip and she saw him fall to the ground in front of her. Overcome with fear, shock, surprise, terror, rage, she cowered against the wall, tears streaming down her cheek.

"Mirran!" a familiar voice asked concernedly out of the darkness as a figure walked slowly towards her, a gentle, strong hand on her bare shoulder. Through her tear-filled eyes she saw the long dirty-blonde strands of hair, and two pale worried eyes.

"Gawain…" she whispered relieved, through her tears as she flew to his arms with every ounce of her strength. He held her ever close, a hand resting against the back of her head as she cried against his shoulder. His head rested atop hers as she clung desperately to him, feeling safe and secure, letting go the fear that consumed her.

"There …sshh." He whispered comfortingly, inwardly damning the man to hell and beyond for hurting a woman, Mirran, so. Neither tried to pull away from their tight embrace. Somewhere in his heart, Gawain had always felt an affinity towards her and seeing her treated as she was tore at his heart. Always he wanted to be there for her, to help her in whatever way she might need help. He raised his head and looked down at her, noticing her completely ripped dress and torn shift, revealing a shoulder and good portion of her back. _'She must be freezing,'_ a voice in his head whispered. Moving an arm from her for just a minute, he pulled his cloak around so that it fell lazily across her back, and then returned his arm to wrap caringly around her. Her tears had grown silent, yet still she clung to him as though letting him go would bring the man back to life.

"Mirran, we should get you inside…it's too cold to just sit out here." He softly said, feeling her reluctance at raising her head from his shoulder. Her tear rimmed eyes were pleading with his to not leave her, before her eyes traveled down to the remains of her clothing. The front of her dress was completely ripped off, and her shift hung in several torn pieces, revealing more of her chest than deemed decent. Gawain quickly averted his eyes and reached to unclasp his cloak, before pulling it fully around her shoulders. Unwillingly she released her hold on Gawain and pulled his warm cloak tighter about her, feeling a blush creep to her cheeks.

"Please…I don't wish to go back to the tavern." She said, sniffing back her tears.

"That wasn't where I was going to take you," he softly, knowingly said. She rose shakily to her feet as his hand remained on her arm to steady her. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and guided her down the dark street as she leaned into him. "Your quarters are this way I believe…." He softly said, much to her surprise.

"And how would you know?" She asked, trying to sound surprised and smiling, but failing miserably. He didn't answer for it was quite obvious—she lived along the row of rooms that the other barmaids did, and this information was common knowledge amongst the men of the fort.

"Tristan would have come instead of me had he not been called away by Arthur just now, for he too saw that man grab you so in the tavern." She turned and looked at Gawain, surprise and confusion registered on her face. _'How does he know? No one knows but us!' _Gawain smiled knowingly at her, for it was quite obvious to him that the mystery knight who had Mirran's heart was Tristan, for he could see her love returned ever so subtly in the actions of the silent, stoic knight.

"Thank you." She softly said, leaning her head against his shoulder, content with his knowing and his openly offered care. Within no time they had reached her quarters and stood just inside the threshold, welcoming the warm air of the tiny room to the bitter cold of the winter night. He sat her down on the edge of the bed before moving to light a small candle and instinctively looking the place over for signs of possible intruders. Satisfied she was indeed going to be alone one he left, he turned back to her and saw her sitting, head down and arms crossed about her chest, still wrapped in his cloak.

"I'll come for my cloak tomorrow," he softly said, walking over to her, "now you need to rest. It's been a trying night for you." Slowly she raised her head and looked at him with heavy eyes.

"Please don't leave me alone." She meekly asked him, pleading with her eyes. Gawain silently sighed and reluctantly nodded, though somewhere in his heart he was glad—he hadn't felt right just going off and leaving her.

"But you will sleep." He said firmly as he pulled back her quilt, watching her slide under the covers before moving to blow out the candle, plunging them back into darkness. He walked back to the bed and sat with his head propped on a pillow against the wall as she scooted over into his secure arms, resting her head gently against his shoulder. Feeling her cling to him, he heard her breathing grow steady and even, and then fell asleep himself.

* * *

there ya go. may seem like kind of a random event (maybe not...that's what one friend said when they were reading this...) but the relationship between Mirran Gawain ties in a little later (hopefully not in an overly cliched way...but we'll see when we get there). thanks again to reviewers! review if'n ya want. next chapter hopefully up soon. 


	7. Ch 7: A word, a chase, a meeting

thank you thank you thank you to all who review continue to review! here's the next chapter (sorry for the kinda long wait...school is insane).

same warnings disclaimers apply...

**Chapter 7: A word, a chase, a meeting**

No sooner did her eyes open then everything flooded her mind. She bolted up, eyes wide awake, immediately pulling up the cloak that had fallen off her shoulders. She knew she wasn't alone…but that wasn't what made her heart race or caused the troubled look on her face. She remembered Tristan. '_Oh good gods….'_ What was he going to do once he found out…if he found out?

"Mirran?" She turned around quickly at Gawain's soft voice, meeting his sleep-laced eyes. "What is it?" He asked gently, sitting up beside her. "Don't think on last night—nothing too good can come of it." She turned from his eyes, focusing on the quilt bedspread.

"Gawain—promise me you won't." She suddenly asked, trying to sound resolute, but finding a meek, almost begging quality to her voice.

"Won't what?" He asked, a gnawing suspicion that he already knew the answer clouding his mind.

"Tell him…or anyone really."

"Mirran, I cannot."

"Yes you can. What concern is it of theirs?" She asked pointedly, as Gawain stared back at her wide-eyed.

"For Tristan it is quite a concern I imagine. As it is to those of us who don't want to see you hurt." He answered firmly, seeing a twinge of defeat in her eyes before disappearing as her eyes narrowed at his.

"Don't start that," she warned softly, "this stays between you and me," she looked away from him, biting her lip, shaking her head, "he can't know…Tristan just can't," she thought back to that night in the woods…about being made of glass….

"I promise you he will think no less of you." Gawain softly said, breaking her thoughts. She turned back to him.

"Maybe so…but that does not mean he won't treat me differently—more like someone in constant need of protection, more like a helpless child—"

"You? I doubt any man would." Gawain said skeptically as he rose, ignoring her playful glare.

"He will…he's done it once already," she trailed off, ignoring his questioning look, "never mind—just promise me you won't tell him. Let me." She added hopefully. _'Like hell she will…,'_ he thought almost angrily, annoyed beyond words with her stubbornness, but glad some man could see through it. His eyes narrowed seriously issuing to her wide-alert sapphire ones an understanding and promise—as though a warning of what was to come if didn't tell Tristan.

"Very well," he said, forcing himself to say it, "I will say nothing—but you must." Though it went against his better judgment, his far better judgment, he couldn't take back his word, nor did he find himself truly wishing to. He wanted to have that trust in her. She nodded her head quickly, her eyes momentarily clouding over.

"Thank you." She said as she visibly relaxed and smiled carefully up at him, some light and laughter returning to her eyes.

"You be careful." He said warmly, as he leaned over her, kissing her head gently as she fought from rolling her eyes. As he pulled back she slipped his cloak off and quickly pulled up her quilt over her chest and the tattered remains of her shift. He nodded his head thankfully, meeting her eyes once more before gathering his cloak and silently leaving.

She rose quickly, determined to put the previous night behind her as best as possible, including taking a bath and discarding the remains of her dress and shift.  
Sometime later she stood in a dark blue skirt and shift, having bathed and feeling somewhat better about everything. What relieved her most was having Gawain's word he wouldn't tell anyone—she trusted that. When Tristan found out, she would be the one telling him. If he found out…the last thing she needed or wanted was the man she loved to be arrested for murder or keep her locked away in a cage. She heard the creak of a hinge and she spun around to see flying black fabric and a head of wavy, black hair atop a face with blue eyes and a playful smile.

"Galahad! Bring that back!" Mirran's voice cut through her open window to Galahad's ear as he ran, the black fabric of her shirt clutched tight in his hand. Had she followed him? He dared not turn around for fear of being caught and then losing the bet.

"Galahad!" He chanced a glance and saw her running through the street after him. _'gods she's pretty fast,' _he thought as he smiled triumphantly and picked up his pace. Through the gate of the fort he lead this merry chase, crashing into two roman guards and giving his quick apologies as he continued running towards the shade of a big tree, knowing Mirran was close on his tail.

"Galahad!" He heard her call out again, this time sounding slightly out of breath as he reached the shade under the tree where two other knights were lazily reclining.

"Mirran's shirt! That's prefect!" Marvlin burst out laughing as Mirran came running up behind Galahad in her dark blue skirt and white shift that fit tight against her skin.

"Galahad—my shirt please!" She said determinedly.

"I think you owe me." Galahad said to Marvlin and Grenham as he tossed the shirt to Marvlin who studied it as though he doubted it was real.

"WHAT?" Mirran shrieked, more surprised at hearing it was a bet then she was angry at the fact that she had chased Galahad through the fort in naught but her shift and a skirt.

"Well done Galahad," Grenham said sitting up, ignoring Mirran, "I must say I didn't think you would do it."

"Do what? Steal my shirt?" She asked mock-angry, her hands braced against her hips.

"Not your shirt per say, but the bet was for Galahad to take something important of a woman's and make it all the way back here, depositing the object in my hands before he was caught." Marvlin explained as Mirran rolled her eyes.

"So his coming to you was purely his choice." Grenham said laughing as Galahad's cheeks flushed slightly.

"So you chose me, hunh?" She asked, facing Galahad who simply smiled back at her.

"Yes I did—I knew you wouldn't take it as hard as the other women. For out of all of them, you are the easiest going—plus I hadn't counted on you actually pursuing me in your shift." He finished somewhat embarrassedly.

"Yes, why didn't you put on another shirt?" Grenham asked curiously.

"Because I intend to wear that shirt today and saw no purpose in getting another one dirty as well. Now that he's completed the bet, may I please have my shirt?" She asked, smiling seriously at Marvlin, anxious to put it on and have the staring from the people of the fort stop.

"Of course Mirran." Marvlin laughed lightheartedly and threw her her shirt.

"Thank you." She said as she pulled it over her head, grateful for its cover even though she hadn't really been that embarrassed. She looked up from smoothing it down against the waist of her skirt and saw Galahad's back to her. A smile of playful revenge crossed her face.

"You'll pay for that Galahad!" She called out as she ran and jumped onto his back. Knowing him to be somewhat ticklish, courtesy of Falia, she latched one arm supportively about his shoulders and the other started tickling his sides. His light laughter filled the air as he backed up, trying to get her off him, as she continued to tickle him mercilessly, laughing as well. Grenham and Marvlin found themselves unable to help their friend due to their own fits of laughter and were rather enjoying Mirran's revenge on Galahad.

"Gawain! Welcome to the show!" Grenham called out to Gawain as he approached on horseback, a bemused look across his face as he saw Mirran latched onto Galahad, both of them laughing.

"What is this?" He asked curiously.

"A casual bet set by Marvlin to Galahad required him to bring something of a lady's here—he chose to bring Mirran's shirt. She followed him here and is now paying him back for that." Grenham explained over the shrieks from both the young man and young woman.

"I bet now you'll think twice before you ever steal my shirt again, hunh?" She called out playfully before her laughter returned, for Galahad had now discovered she was ticklish as well.

"Mirran—stop—" Galahad called out between breaths and laughter, he looked up and saw Gawain shaking his head amusedly, "Gawain—stop her! Don't let her do this to me!"

"Oh no, don't drag me into it…" Gawain wisely said, dismounting his horse.

"Galahad—wha—wah—!" Her words fell short as Galahad's balance faltered, sending them both crashing to the ground, her landing squarely against his back.

"Alright…I don't plan on borrowing one of your shirts ever again…" He said breathlessly, turning his head around to meet her sapphire eyes that danced with sunlight and laughter.

"Glad to hear it." She said comfortingly as she patted his shoulder gently and rolled off his back. She sat up on the grass, catching her breath and watching Galahad lazily roll over, looking skyward.

"That's what I remember most from home…" he suddenly, distantly said, waving a hand across the sky, "the sky…just as endless as…as anything. And the clouds blowing across it, like waves across water." He stopped his soft musing, noticing Mirran looking skyward as well from where she sat.

"How many more years until you return home?" She asked.

"Six and counting." Galahad immediately replied.

"You've been here nine years already…wow…that's a long time to be away from one's home."

"And what of you, Mirran? You just arrived here a while ago. Surely this is not your home." Galahad questioned, rolling over to lean against his left arm as he looked up at her.

"No, this is not my home. My home…," she paused and couldn't really figure out how to describe it. She'd never really had a home—it died when her mother died those years ago…but how to say that without saying too much, "my home was destroyed. I have no memories of home even…so there has never been one for me to return to or think on." She said, finishing quietly and looking down from the sky to Galahad.

"That sounds depressing," Galahad quickly mused, "I am sorry—I wish it was different for you." He finished with a gentle smile.

"As do I." She said, meeting his smile.

"Gawain!" Galahad suddenly called out, noticing the slightly older man leaving the shade of the tree and walking their way, "you didn't come rescue me from my attacker!"

"I know better then to interfere in your fights, Galahad," Gawain said a note of seriousness to his voice before a smile graced his face, "besides, I'm sure Mirran would have beaten the both of us." His eyes met hers and she saw that he knew his words to be just as false as she did. And now, while his eyes held a sense of seriousness and maybe even worry, his smile was that of a true caring friend.

"Oh…I don't know…" Galahad said, looking at Mirran skeptically, "unless she's got a dagger hidden under that shirt of hers—"

"Why you!" She cut him off and flew at him once again, catching him off guard and knocking him back to the ground. Gawain laughed silently and shook his head—count on a twenty-two and a twenty-one year old to act two and one years old.

"gods, Mirran you're acting more and more un-lady like the more time you spend around us," Gawain plainly said, noticing Arthur riding their way with Lancelot at his side. He kneeled down beside the squirming pair and latched his arms easily about Mirran's waist, effortlessly pulling her from Galahad and onto his lap.

"Gawain, wha—"

"Your friendly fight with Galahad has caught even Arthur's attention." Gawain seriously said. Mirran froze and her eyes widened. _'Surely not…,'_ she inwardly pleaded. The serious look in Gawain's crystalline blue eyes fell instantly away as he laughed, surprised she'd taken him seriously.

"Gawain!" She hollered, realizing his joke and slapping his shoulder.

"Ah, the list narrows…" They heard Lancelot say as they turned and looked up at him, seeing a knowing smile across his face. He was dead set on discovering whose bed Mirran was sharing—since it wasn't his, he was immensely curious to know who had won Mirran's favor so quickly over his. Mirran rolled her eyes as she rose from Gawain's embrace and brushed the grass from her dress and hair.

"I heard about and saw a part of an interesting chase through the fort this morning…" Arthur started, noticing and smiling at the blush creeping to Mirran's cheeks.

"Just a bit of harmless fun," Grenham said defensively, having joined them, as though protecting himself from punishment.

"Did you make it Galahad?" Arthur curiously asked, already aware of the bet, and momentarily forgetting his role as their commander. Galahad's face brightened into a smile as Marvlin and Grenham broke out in laughter.

"Aye sir." Galahad said proudly. Mirran bit her lip to keep an embarrassed grin from spreading across her face as she crossed her arms about her chest, hearing the men laugh good-humoredly. The mirth and laughter died away in Arthur's eyes and filled with their usual seriousness.

"Knights, we need to meet for council very soon. Just as soon as we all return to the fort." Arthur suddenly said as the smiles faded away from the surrounding knights.

"Some northern trouble has wandered south…." Lancelot said quietly to the knights as Arthur turned his horse and walked around the group, back towards the fort.

"We'll need all the help we can get," Arthur said quietly, more to himself but then upon turning his eyes to group, he met with her curious sapphire eyes, "know how to wield a sword Mirran?" He asked jokingly, a smile across his chiseled face.

"Honestly no…" She said almost sheepishly as all the knights turned and stared at her in surprise.

"You don't? You exude the confidence of knowing how to defend yourself with a weapon." Galahad remarked. She found herself without words, and her eyes involuntarily rising to Gawain's as all the only response she could think of was a simple shake of her head.

"Meet me later then," she turned and looked up at Lancelot who smiled warmly down at her, "meet in the courtyard and I'll teach what you need to know."

"Very well then." She said, inwardly surprising herself. No woman she had met had ever been given the opportunity to learn how to fight, much less would have accepted it. With a nod of his head, Lancelot turned his horse and followed suite after Arthur towards the fort.

"Well we should get going…." Grenham grumbled as he and Marvlin started for the fort gate.

"You're sure you want to practice with him…alone?" Mirran turned at Gawain's question, smiling somewhat nervously.

"I think I'll be alright. It's the ones I don't know that I worry about, not the ones I know." She said, meeting his knowing eyes that harbored memories of the previous eve. He smiled at her, knowing he could trust her and chiding himself for not trusting Lancelot that much. He couldn't say where that protective instinct about her came from, but it was just there, and judging by the look in her eyes, she was glad for it. She moved towards him and wrapped her arms around him in a caring hug as he held her gently.

"Thank you again." She whispered before pulling away from him, her hand trailing down his arm as she turned from him back towards the fort. Gawain looked up, squinting in the sun's brightness before turning to head back towards his horse, trying to ignore the questioning, knowing, surprised look on Galahad's face.

"So it is you…" Galahad said, falling into step alongside Gawain.

"No. She does not hold my heart, nor do I hold hers," he simply said, "nor would I wish to. Our relationship works as it is." Galahad, upon hearing the sincerity of his friend's voice, could not doubt him or pester him further.

* * *

well, there ya go. review if'n ya want. next chapter should be up shortly. 


	8. Ch 8: Learning something new

thanks so much for the reviews on that last chapter! the response to that chapter was a most welcome surprise...the resonse to this whole story has been a most welcome surprise. thanks again and keep it up if you feel so inclined.  
i had a few minutes so i figured i'd better get the next chapter up..hope you enjoy!

same warnings and disclaimers apply...

**Chapter 8: Learning something new**

She could honestly say from that moment onward she was looking forward to her sword lesson. Learning something new was always exciting to her—and learning something practical and useful was even better…plus, after this afternoon, she would have no need to tell Tristan anything about the previous eve. For if it happened again, she would be more than ready.

Hoping her steps didn't appear too rushed, she walked towards the courtyard, her riding skirt blowing in the breeze. To look at Mirran, one wouldn't have noticed anything too special or odd about her outfit. She had chosen to wear her riding clothes—a forest green slim fitting shirt with a v-heck she cut herself, a durable-material soft brown skirt with a thick brown belt—purely because they gave her the most freedom of movement. Only on closer inspection could one see that the skirt was full of large slits that ran to her mid-thigh and that it was a pair of pants of the same material that filled in the gaps. It made horse riding so much easier as it allowed her to easily move her legs without the restriction of a full skirt. She reached the courtyard and found Lancelot in a corner getting a drink water, two gleaming swords at his side.

"So you came after all?" He asked surprised and glad as he watched her walk over.

"Oh of course…why would I miss out on the chance to learn to fight civilized?" She asked, a sarcastic note to her voice.

"So you know the difference?" He asked interestedly, yet with a dark note to his voice.

"Civilized with a weapon, as opposed to uncivilized without one." She said shortly, knowing that was the distinction to men. _'As if they're any different—one is just bloodier than the other,'_ she thought darkly. Fighting was still fighting, and something she hadn't particularly enjoyed, but she had to admit it came in handy at times.

"Most women see no difference," Lancelot said, walking over with his two swords in hand, "fighting is usually just fighting to them." She laughed lightly.

"I was just thinking the same thing…but good thing I am not like most women then?" She asked daringly, watching as he walked around her, a knowing smirk on his face.

"How well I know, for you are the only woman who has refused me time and time again." He picked a sword off a bench and twirled it about in his free hand before flipping it and gripping the blade, holding the handle out for her.

"You're just not for me." She said, wrapping her hand around the grip. He backed away from her with the same knowing, subtly seductive smirk.

"Then someone else certainly is…that much I know." He said, flipping one of his two blades into his empty hand.

"Are you going to teach me to fight or inquire as to the affairs of my heart?" She suddenly asked pointedly.

"A little of both, I think," he quickly responded, before raising both swords, "the essentials of sword fighting are not difficult to understand—I thrust, you parry, then disengage." Her brows knitted in confusion.

"And that means…?"

"Basically this—I come at you with my sword and you block my sword with yours, preventing me from hitting you, yet at the same time you want to hit me." He started to circle around her. "And watch your feet. You'd be surprised at how tangled they can become." She smirked, shifting on her feet to keep facing him. The footwork part she was well aware of. _'Even uncivilized fighting requires that much skill…that much I know I can handle.'_ He raised a sword and instantly lunged towards her. She snapped to and brought her sword to block his, watched him raise it over her head and come towards her right side—**_clank_**—the sword in his left hand moved towards her, instantly she swung around. **_Clunk._**

"No fair—you've two swords."

"You can handle it." He moved again, slowly and deliberately, surprised at how well she was parrying his blows. To her, his movements seemed rapid and a blur—but he wasn't even breathing hard!

"Good. Very good." He said, dropping his swords to his side for a minute, watching her catch her breath.

"It can't be—I've no breath left and you're not breathing hard at all. Had you been a real enemy, I would be long dead."

"Well, you just started today," she spun at a sudden voice behind her, "you can't expect to master it in one day!" Galahad smiled encouragingly as Gawain and Dagonet stood silently by.

"And for fighting against a man with two swords, I must say you've done well so far." Gawain complimented as she turned back to face Lancelot who now held his swords at the ready.

"Here we go…" She whispered quietly under her breath, to herself.

"And this time we've an audience." Lancelot quietly said having heard her every word. A blink of an eye and they were at it again. Thrusting, parrying, lunging, blocking, clanking, defending. She swung her sword down onto Lancelot's, instantly he rolled it right off and thrust forward, missing her hip by inches. She brought her sword back in a rush of startled adrenaline to his, hitting it with all the strength she could muster, then watched as it flew across the courtyard, landing in the dust. Gawain's eyes widened as Galahad took a step back, both in awe at Mirran disarming Lancelot. Never had they seen that happen before. Lancelot's eyes were full of a challenge and wounded pride.

"That I must say is a first." He said nonchalantly, forgetting she was a novice. He pitted his all against her as he flew towards her with just one sword. The adrenaline coursing through her was now joined by fear as she fought on instinct, moving and blocking to the best of her natural ability against this skilled warrior. She pushed his sword off hers and they stood back a second, sizing up each other and catching their breath.

"Curse this skirt…." She muttered, reaching for the button at her waist. Once undone, she flipped the skirt out from under her belt and threw it in the dirt, shocking the growing crowd of observing knights as she stood there now in pants. He moved forward again and the fight resumed. A strong, crashing blow from him suddenly sent waves of pain through her arm and her sword fell languidly into the dirt. All the other knights could do was stand and watch, enthralled by what they were seeing. Lancelot's eyes rose from her fallen sword to hers expectantly. _'Oh, this is far from over. Even thought it will hurt…hell, he's already hurt me…'_ she thought wickedly. A smile of concession formed on her face and his weapon lowered to his side. In the blink of an eye, she raised her leg and brought her foot crashing swiftly into his knees. They buckled as they should and Lancelot fell to the ground, automatically letting go of his sword. She smiled victoriously and backed away, watching him lay on the ground in shock.

"I think I win." She said, nodding slightly as their eyes met.

"You only think that." He flew at her faster than she could think. He wrapped his arms about her legs, bringing her intentionally to the ground with him atop her. He had her pinned the ground.

"No, I think I win," he said pointedly, "so you have to tell me—who is it?"

"Who is what?" She asked curiously.

"Who is it you spend your nights with?" She blanched at his comment in comical surprise.

"Lancelot! Why…this is really eating at your pride, isn't it?" She asked, a disbelieving smile on her face. He lowered his face so their noses were touching.

"Yes if you must know…," he whispered softly, "and I'm dying to know which man has been more fortunate than I."

"Lancelot—let her go! You win." Gawain suddenly called out, making them both remember there were others around.

"I was right earlier then wasn't I…?" Lancelot asked her knowingly.

"No you weren't." She said, pushing against him to free herself from his grasp.

"And you're not leaving until I get an answer…" He pressed. She sighed and turned from his face, her eyes instantly settling on Tristan, who had now joined the onlookers. A small smile crept to her face—it was so great to see him.

"Lancelot…the fight_ is_ over." Galahad stressed good humouredly from where some knights had gathered, passing snide comments about why the two were not getting up.

"All she need do is answer a simple question…" He called out, making her head snap back to face him, the smile falling from her face.

"I share no one's bed—"

"But you wish to."

"Can you always read me like a book?" She asked an annoyed edge to her voice.

"Only when it's obvious…" She smiled involuntarily and turned her head again, her eyes automatically settling on Tristan.

"I see now who it is…" Lancelot said quietly, rolling off her but still holding her wrist tight, "our dark and silent scout…." She turned back to face him, a look of truthful vulnerability in her eyes and a blush creeping to her dirt smudged cheeks. He smiled understandingly at her as he rose, pulling her to her feet.

"Lancelot, don't do anyth—"

"Not a thing." He said, smiling honestly at her. She nodded at his smile, believing he would keep his word, but doubting the mischievous look in his chocolate eyes.

"A bloody good fight that was," Bors said, approaching the pair, "Mirran, I think you're the first to ever partially disarm him."

"Pure beginner's luck, Bors." She said downheartedly.

"Besides I wasn't gripping my swords too tightly anyway—she is just a beginner after all." She slapped Lancelot's arm as he walked from her to gather his swords.

"Partially disarm him?" She turned with a confident smile towards Tristan.

"Did you doubt me?" She asked, mock-hurt in her voice.

"I didn't see the skirmish…but I heard you put up a decent fight. And against a man with two swords. Remind me never to engage you in swordfight."

"You would easily win hands down in that situation…" she said quickly, walking from him towards her discarded skirt. She shook the dirt from it and met with Tristan's questioning eyes before they traveled to the skirt then to the pants she was wearing.

"Its part of my riding clothes…," his eyebrows raised questioningly and some doubt crept to his mind as he thought of how during a fight with Lancelot she came to be without her skirt, "it's quite an explanation…." She said exhaustedly, reading the look in his eyes as she moved towards him, feeling his hand wrap discreetly, yet comfortingly around hers as they left the courtyard.

XXXXXXXXXX

She bustled about the pub as usual, even though the crowd was anything but usual. And most fortunately, that bastard of a man who attacked her was nowhere to be seen. _'Thank gods.'_ There had been no need to tell Tristan and so she hadn't. And she had no plans to…she never actually said she would, and as such felt no guilt or that she had lied to Gawain.

Tonight, the crowd was insane and it was the perfect opportunity for her to lose her thoughts and get swept up in the busy work. A Roman noble, en route to Rome, had stopped for a night at the fort and amongst his travelers were musicians. Needless to say, word had spread fast among the locals and now the pub was packed with music listeners, even though it was late.

"Oh why can't there be musicians every night!" Magda exclaimed excitedly as the girls around her groaned.

"Magda don't wish such things," Halaga called out over the crowd, "or you'll wish us all to early graves."

"That would suit you wouldn't it?" Cayln said under her breath as she brushed past Halaga.

"Oh shut it would you!" Halaga snapped, catching Mirran's attention from across the pub. She slid mugs down the table and smiled thankfully at comments before turning and sighing. Slowly and with some difficulty, she made her way back to the bar, wiping her hands on her apron before grabbing a pitcher. It was late…and the crowd was a relatively subdued one as the music had grown softer and the dances less coordinated as the wine kept flowing.

"You've read our minds, dear Mirran." Bors slurred as she refilled his mug.

"Bors, don't let Vanora hear you call me that—she might get jealous." Bors in his drunkenness missed the joke in her voice and fell into silence. She made her way easily around the table, careful not to interrupt the tale Svent was animatedly sharing. She met Tristan's wandering eyes and smiled affectionately. In that instant, she noticed just how good he looked in the low lighting. The dark shadows from the dim light fell ever so alluringly cross his pale skin and dark hair, and she felt herself instantly drawn in, wanting to be closer to him…much closer. Looking from him, she filled Lancelot's glass, the last one, and turned to go.

"Come on Mirran…you've had no fun the whole evening." She turned, surprised at Lancelot's words.

"Well I've had work to do. But out of sheer exhausted curiosity, did you have something in mind?" His eyes darted mischievously to Tristan before settling on hers. "Lancelot, you won't—you promised." She started as he took the pitcher from her and wrapped her hand in his.

"I know what I said—and this has nothing to do with him. Nothing directly at least." He finished under his breath as he led her from the table towards an open space filled with dancing couples.

"Nothing directly! Lancelot, what—" She stopped short as his hand snaked around her waist, drawing her close against him.

"All I ask for is a dance. Tristan will see, and I guarantee you will see him later," he smiled hopefully at her, "just go with me." Her eyes darted reluctantly around as her feet began to move to the music with his.

His arm was still tight around her waist as hers wrapped around his, they moved in circles around each other. His arms switched and he pulled her to his side as they moved forward a count of two before dipping at the knees, rising, moving back a count of two, dipping again. He stepped behind her, shifting his hands lazily so an arm wrapped around the front of her waist, pressing her back lightly against his chest. Feeling his hands wrapped around her and his breath lightly against her neck, she began to see how easy it would be to succumb to him.

She unwrapped from his embrace and with their joined hands raised near their faces from their bent arms, the dance continued. The rhythm slowed and Lancelot moved behind her, a hand traveling lazily around her waist as she looped an arm about his, feeling their intertwined hands come to rest against her upper front shoulder. Instinctively she turned her face and came within mere inches of his. The final note of the song sounded as they froze. Suddenly they unraveled, bowing and curtseying to the other before walking back to the table.

"What was that supposed to do?" She asked quietly, embarrassment reddening her cheeks

"More than I originally thought," Lancelot said, smiling gleefully, "he's left." Her eyes searched over the table. Lancelot was right. Tristan had gone. _'What have I let happen…?'_ she thought downheartedly, breaking free from Lancelot.

"Thank you for the dance. I would be lying to say I didn't enjoy it." She said, feeling embarrassment color her cheeks once more as she smiled.

"My pleasure. And believe me, you know your heart—things will turn out for the best." Mirran could only hope so as she quickly and unnoticeably left the pub. She looked down the nearest corridors and walkways for him, but saw nothing. Knowing he sometimes took to the woods in the evenings, she flew to her quarters to get her cloak. She had one hand on the door handle when a strong hand instantly wrapped around her other. The breath caught in her throat as she spun around, only to be relieved it was Tristan.

"Mirran what was—"

"In." She quickly, commandingly said as she pushed him gently inside before closing the door behind her. The corridor was no place for another argument. Breathing deep, she turned around to face Tristan, whose eyes shone with anger and a hint of jealousy.

"What was that?"

"Just a dance."

"And what of this afternoon—in the courtyard...when he would not let you up?" He asked, an edge to his voice that clearly told her he would kill Lancelot without really thinking twice based on her answer.

"It was and is nothing." She answered honestly.

"Mirran—his hands were allover you for the whole pub to see…that can't be 'nothing'…not where he is concerned."

"Jealous are we….? Father? Friend? Lover?" She asked, questioning his role in her life.

"He is more your lover then I—"

"How would you know?"

"You let his hands roam freely—"

"Where?" Had she really just said that? He blanched at her pointblank question and felt a blush creep to his cheeks.

"Your…hips, waist, shoulders…all over your back." He answered a bit uneasily, finding the intimate-frank nature of her question a bit disarming as well as naming. She looked his direction, finding everything else in her mind slowly slipping away, just as though none of it mattered. Last night had made her realize one thing…that life changes without warning, so to not the present moment ever get away. Without thinking, but knowing what she was ultimately asking, she stepped closer to him and took both his hands in hers, placing them firmly on her hips.

"Show me." She whispered, surprising herself and making her choice. His breath caught in his throat. Ever since that kiss, he had found himself hungering to see her and for more of her… but had found himself unable to until now, no thanks to helping soldiers track a band Woads. And now, to finally, be here with her and have her tempting him with such a willing offer….such a moment was oh so rare. And this was the first woman he could honestly say he loved and he wanted to do nothing more than just that—love her.

Without another word, he moved his hands slowly around her waist and hip bones, tracing their contour with his fingers as he moved to her back before slowly trailing up to her shoulders. Her heart was racing and she fought to keep her breathing normal—his touch felt so right and was suddenly driving her mad. Instinctively, he took a step closer to her, wanting to be as close to her as possible. His hands traveled slowly down her arms before returning to her shoulders where they traveled down her torso, savoring every inch. Her eyes closed for a second as she fought with herself to keep from throwing herself at him and loving him completely. His hands came to rest low on her stomach and she looked up at him, seeing the flames of desire in his eyes, knowing they harbored reflections of her own.

"Tristan…"she whispered breathlessly, only wanting and needing to love him. His answer came the moment their lips were in locked in gentle, loving want. She soon felt herself falling back against the bed, wrapped in his arms and welcoming his weight. She kissed him just as fervently as he her and welcomed his increased exploration as clothing became a thing of the past. She began her own exploration, trailing her fingers gently over his scarred skin, as she relied on instinct as skin met skin for her first time.

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well there you go. hopefully does not disappoint. review if'n ya want. will get next chapter up soon as possible. 


	9. Ch 9: Another day

hello all. many many thanks to all who review! sorry for the almost week between updates—camping out for seats to a basketball game was very time consuming and so was school work. here's the next chapter, chapter 9. enjoy!

same warnings & disclaimers apply...

**Chapter 9: Another day**

He was gone when she woke up. She shook her head—she should have remembered. He had early morning watch. Smiling gleefully to herself, she stretched her sore muscles and reveled in the remembered feel of him against her last night._ 'I have loved him more than I ever thought possible,'_ she thought with a sigh. At the mere thought of their night together, her smile widened and she wished for them to never have to part. Rising from her bed alone, she dressed and set lazily off towards the tavern to get breakfast and prepare for the evening crowds.

"And where've you been—you left last night without word." Falia asked Mirran curiously as she sat down for breakfast.

"Falia! You know better than to ask—" Halaga started.

"Who've you been with?" Falia again asked.

"That's what you ask…" Halaga finished. Mirran smiled a small smile, feeling her cheeks begin to blush.

"Do I spy red cheeks?" Vanora lightheartedly questioned, "that can only mean she was with the man she loves."

"You should know better, Vanora—we don't give our hearts to the knights, even though you obviously have." Halaga said coldly, several of the others girls nodding. Mirran stared blankly at her plate of food, trying to hide her questioning look and forcing her blush away. "We do not give our hearts to the knights. It can only end in heartache, anger, jealousy," Halaga suddenly continued, glaring pointedly at Mirran, "one of them will come to you, whispering honey-sweet words making you the queen of his world, and then take you to his bed, seeing and feeling only you. You wake in the morning and he is gone, but his memory lingers and your heart is with him. But he does not see you when you see him, and not a week later is he worshiping another queen whilst you are nothing," Halaga paused as other barmaids nodded and turned towards Mirran, who glared determinedly back at her, "a weak woman," Halaga's voice lowered, "would believe everything and then find herself broken. That's why we are what we are—we don't give our hearts away." It was only then that Mirran realized she'd done the opposite. She gave her heart away to one man and only then did she give her body away.

"But what if it is true?" Mirran heard herself ask as she saw Halaga's eyes open wide.

"True? True what…love?" Halaga laughed cynically. "Oh please…one man committing himself solely to one woman in 'love' when he's got a whole selection continually available to him?"

"But what of those that don't always take nightly companionship?" Mirran asked pointedly.

"Like Tristan—he rarely ever takes a woman." Cayln said interestedly looking up from her plate of food.

"Only because he scares 'em all away." Falia said as she reached for some bread.

"And those that he does take are always silent about it—never offering anything." Vanora added before taking a bite.

"Why?" Mirran heard herself curiously ask. Vanora shrugged, mouth full.

"It's his wish," Cayln quietly said, catching Mirran and other's attention, "that's what Bella said." She quickly, defensively said.

"He took Isabelle!" Falia and the others intently questioned, eyes wide with shock.

"Before she married…" Cayln said before returning to her food, "so dear Mirran must have graced his bed last night—she's not saying who it was or a word of it." The others nodded content with that and not noticing the pleased small smile cross Mirran's face. The conversation moved away from Tristan and Mirran altogether, much to Mirran's relief—for even though she loved Tristan and had no regrets, she didn't like the idea of everyone thinking it so common.

XXXXX

"Of course, the one morning of the week I have watch on the wall," Gawain stated, "is the coldest, grayest, foggiest, dampest morning of this whole damned dismal winter."

"I can't feel my legs." Galahad said casually.

"Is that all?" Lancelot asked a smirk on his face.

"I wouldn't know—since I can't feel anything!"

"So I could stab you in the leg and you wouldn't know it?" The three of them turned and stared at Tristan who leaned casually against the wall, sharpening his dagger.

"You do, Tristan, and you won't live long enough to pull back your dagger!" Galahad snapped threateningly.

"Galahad," Gawain said calmly, resting a hand on the younger man's shoulders, "Tristan meant nothing by it—merely a jest." But through the pain of the biting cold, Galahad still saw red. Wiping at the tears in his eyes from the bone-chilling winds, he glanced over at Tristan. Galahad had hopes of one day being as cool, calm and collected as Tristan or Gawain, but it never seemed to work for him. But he knew most of it would come with age, for Tristan was a good deal his senior—so the wisdom would come, and the impulsiveness would fade…but Galahad couldn't help but wonder if the imperviousness to cold would come as well, for Tristan showed no visible sign of being cold. Not even the hand that held his sharpening stone was shaking from shivers.

"I almost wonder if you're human sometimes, Tristan." Galahad heard himself say noticing as Tristan simply raised his head, a questioning in his dark eyes.

"Of course he's human." Gawain said, staring at Galahad confusedly.

"He must be," Lancelot added as they saw amusement creep into Tristan's dark eyes, "Mirran loves him." If it hadn't been for his already wind-burned cheeks, the three knights would have been able to see the small embarrassment creep to the stoic knight's cheeks.

"And…?" Galahad pressed fervently, a knowing smile on his face as Gawain simply smiled. Tristan let a barely noticeable smile play across his face as he could find no words befitting a response.

"About time! The heart of our silent scout has finally been pierced." Galahad said sing-song.

"Mirran—almost as stubborn and unreadable as you sometimes," Gawain said smiling, "and there's just something about her…can't quite place it…," he paused shaking his head, "nice choice Tristan." Lancelot and Galahad looked curiously at Gawain—he didn't have feelings for her too did he?

"She has her reasons for keeping details closely guarded." Tristan quietly, suddenly said.

"As do you," Lancelot said understandingly, "as do we all I'm sure." He finished softly as his hand traveled to the wolf pendant about his neck.

"Good morning gents." All four of them turned and saw the smiling face of Mirran who had climbed up to the watch platform armed with four mugs of a steaming brew. "A request from Arthur that you all stay warm, and while the women at the tavern wanted to see to it personally, it was suggested warm broth be brought instead. Magda sends her apologies and wishes she had more to offer….oh gods—how do you stand it up here! That wind is unbearable." Another gust of wind followed the last one and it was only seconds before Mirran started shivering.

"We try not to think about it. Thank you." Lancelot said, welcoming the hot mug.

"Try…." Galahad added glumly, gladly warming his hands around the mug.

"The fog is so thick that watching for attackers and travelers is damned near impossible, so at least that keeps watch challenging." Gawain said before cautiously sipping the steaming brew. Mirran looked over the knight's shoulder over the wall. Not even the ground was visible…no trees, no nothing. The whole fort could be surrounded and they would have no way of knowing. Mirran's eyes traveled lazily to Tristan, her mind instantly flooding with memories from the pervious eve. And from the knowing, loving look in his eyes, she knew he remembered as well.

"Mirran…." Tristan half asked, half-stated, a question forming in his eyes. She knew what he was asking, but her name had rolled off his tongue such that it could also be a greeting. She glanced around quickly and found no reason not to trust the other knights or the surroundings. She stepped around Tristan and stood against the outer edge of the wall. Silently her hands rose up in front of her forehead, where she rubbed them gently together twice before letting them slowly fall back to place. The fog lifted and disappeared. Galahad's mouth dropped open.

'That's what it is." Gawain suddenly said as Mirran came and stood next to Tristan again, feeling his hand wrap gently around hers.

"You should be able to see better now." She softly said.

"Thank you," Tristan said, his voice retaining its usual indifference, his eyes showing a sense of pride, gratitude and affection.

"You're a witch!" Galahad suddenly announced.

"Galahad," Lancelot sternly said, before lightening some, "no need to tell the whole fort."

"Yes, I have magical abilities—limited though they are, but I am far from being a witch," she calmly, quickly explained, "I only use them when the need arises—have no fear."

"And you," Gawain said comfortingly, "have no fear. Your secret is safe with us all." Galahad and Lancelot nodded and a smile of relief and happiness crossed Mirran's face.

"And you already knew?" Lancelot asked with a smirk, looking at Tristan.

"Of course he knows, for one night in the heat of their passion, she let her powers slip and it began to rain indoors." Galahad said jokingly, causing Lancelot and Gawain to snicker, and Mirran's eyes to widen, her mouth to fall open.

"Galahad!" She said in shock, smacking his shoulder.

"So un-lady like Mirran!" Galahad said laughingly, rubbing his right forearm.

"Yes, Tristan has known for some time now," she leaned in closer to Galahad and lowered her voice, "he knew long before I ever shared his bed." Now it was Galahad's turn to be shocked at her actually saying it herself.

"gods, you get more and more un-lady like all the time." He said.

"Well what do you expect when I am around men all the time?" They all could not help but agree and she backed away from them saying her farewells and looking forward to seeing them all, especially Tristan, that evening.

XXXXXXX

Morning became afternoon and Mirran found herself doing the usual chores—mending, washing, preparing food. A combination of peace, contentment and belonging surrounded her for the first time that she could ever remember. And at that moment, she wished nothing would change. But with the passage of time, change inevitably comes.

"Mirran—Arthur and the knights are leaving on a mission." Vanora quickly said a note of worry to her voice before disappearing again. Mirran suddenly rose, forgetting about the mending and followed Vanora and the others towards the stable yards where the knights would be.

"What is the mission?" Mirran casually asked whoever might have been listening.

"A large band of woads have crossed the wall and are wrecking havoc on innocent Romans. Arthur and his men are to ride out and stop them." Magda quickly explained before she stopped at the gate.

"You don't go to say goodbye?" Mirran curiously asked.

"No…I've none to say goodbye to. I'm too old for them. No, I only come to help those back that get so worked up over the knights' leaving—Vanora mainly. Now go—go before he goes." Magda quickly finished, shooing Mirran towards the entrance to the stable yards. Tristan glanced over his shoulder as the knights made ready to depart the fort and met with Mirran's sapphire eyes.

"You know already, I'm sure…." He softly said as she walked over to him, understanding in her eyes.

"Go…I'll still be here when you get back." She said, smiling comfortingly, a promise resonating in her eyes.

"You won't just pack up and leave?" He asked playfully, returning her smile.

"I have no reason to leave—everything I love is here." Immediately he could find no words as his heart swelled and his mind screamed. He held her gaze and shook his head, smiling unbelievably at her.

"How is it you are such a contradiction to me?" He asked, making her start and her eyes fill with surprised curiosity. "Nothing makes me happier then your love, and returning your love. Yet all the while I know the danger associated with attaching yourself too much to me, for I could easily die in battle. My mind would not have you love me, yet my heart yearns for you." She smiled understandingly and brought a hand to his face.

"You underestimate your skills on the battlefield. Many times have you ridden and yet you return still. Nonetheless, I know in my heart I will see you again. Now go…before Arthur burns holes in your head with his eyes," she said, her eyes darting to Arthur who regarded both Tristan and Mirran with unreadable eyes, "and the sooner you leave, the sooner you will return." She smiled hopefully and kissed him gently, quickly as he returned her simple kiss. She backed away from him and watched as he gracefully leapt onto his horse and awaited the order. Mirran glanced around at all the other knights, watching as they each readied to ride onward, possibly to a death, hopefully to a victory, praying to return.

"I see dry eyes Mirran. You must not love us." She bit back her laughter as she turned and glared playfully up at Lancelot.

"Not you Lancelot," his smile dropped to a fake pout, the amusement still evident in his deep chocolate eyes, "Tristan, Gawain, the others, yes—"

"Gawain makes your list?" Lancelot suddenly asked interestedly, his eyes widening.

"He makes the same list as you, my friend," she said, trying to fight back a blush that was creeping to her cheeks for an unknown reason, "be careful." She said, her voice laced with caring as she stroked his horse's neck.

"I will," he said resolutely, "and I'll watch out for Tristan for you." She turned and glanced at Tristan, an involuntary smile playing across her face. He looked as deadly a killer as any of them, a sword and hidden dagger at his side, a bow and numerous arrows slung to the side of his horse.

"No need—he may need to look out for you, however." She said laughingly as she turned back to Lancelot.

"When I get back, milady," he said challengingly, "you shall see that I need no protector."

"Are you sure Lancelot?" She turned again, her smile widening, as she saw Gawain ride up alongside them.

"Even Gawain thinks it wise," Mirran said to Lancelot before turning back to Gawain, "then I entrust him to your care." He laughed softly taking in the look on Lancelot's face and her light laughter. Her eyes met Gawain's and filled with admiration as his filled with questioning.

"And who will look after you?" Gawain asked her knowingly, caringly. She held his gaze determinedly, even though her heart was beginning to falter.

"I think now I am more able to look after myself." She answered, hoping her eyes appeared more confident then she really felt. Although she did know more about how to fight and protect herself, she still felt somewhat vulnerable and had ever since that night. Gawain somewhat doubted her words, but found himself unable to do anything about it at the time and so he smiled hopefully down at her, watching a smile play across her thin face.

"Upon our return." He softly and earnestly said, nodding his head gently to her.

"Upon your return." She responded, holding his gaze, not caring about the suspicious look growing on Lancelot's face.

"Knights…," Arthur suddenly called out, looking at each of the nine knights in turn before smiling a small resolute smile, "we ride!" He reared his horse and took off through the gate of the courtyard, his knights following suite, leaving Mirran and Vanora standing alone in a courtyard, both with anxious smiles and hopeful hearts.

* * *

there ya go. hopefully not too mushy/predictable when the knights leave. oh well...review if'n ya want! next chapter will be up Sunday morning-early afternoon-ish (i promise.). 


	10. Ch 10: Waiting and hoping

thank you thank you for the reviews!  
well here it is Sunday morning-afternoonish, and here is the next chapter: chapter 10. enjoy.

same warnings & disclaimers apply...

**Chapter 10: Waiting & hoping **

Arthur and his knights had been gone six, going on seven days. And no matter how Vanora tried to hide her growing panic and worry, it was still showing.

"Vanora—quit your pacing!" Halaga said, clearly annoyed. "You'll only make yourself sick with worry—and not to mention you're with child. And besides, Bors always comes back.

"He always has, that doesn't mean he always will," Vanora said coldly, staring at Halaga, "any of them could be killed at any moment…Svent for instance." Halaga's eyes instantly shot up to Vanora's.

"At least I know Svent enough to trust him on these missions and not worry pointlessly." Halaga said, swelling with some pride at seeing Vanora's eyes fill with rage. Mirran simply watched from where she leaned against the wall, finding it wise to avoid conversation (and being alone) these days, and her thoughts returned to Tristan for the umpteenth time. Fervently she hoped and prayed he would return alive—and somewhere in her heart she knew he would. A sense of life was flowing in the easterly breeze and death seemed far away. Mirran jumped as the sound of shattering clay filled the air. She turned and saw Magda's restraining hand on Halaga's shoulder as Falia stood alongside a silently crying Vanora. Her seventh pregnancy, like all the ones before it, was wrecking havoc on her emotions and the added absence of Bors did nothing to help.

"We'll have no more of that," Magda said, scolding both women, "we'll all think on happier things—like what will be done once the knights return." Magda suggested, raising her eyes searchingly. "Mirran dear—you've not said much at all."

"Her lover must be rubbing off on her." Falia said, smiling suggestively.

"What will you do upon Tristan's return?" Magda asked as Mirran felt her cheeks redden even more.

"I expect I shall do…whatever…my heart tells me."

"Your heart," Halaga said bitingly, rising, "women in our line of work don't have hearts, remember? We don't love—"

"Halaga, what has embittered you so?" Mirran suddenly asked, meeting her eyes that were fuming. An old anger, hate and sadness smoldered inside Halaga as she stared coldly at Mirran.

"She was wi—"

"No!" She snapped, cutting Falia off. "If I wished Mirran to know of my past, I would have spoken sooner." With that, a silence fell and Mirran, sighing in defeat and confusion, turned her head back to the open doors and beyond. Suddenly the easterly breeze brought with it a heaviness that weighed upon its earlier lively nature. **'A homecoming for all…but all are not as they were…yet all are as they are.'**

"The men are back." Mirran quickly said, not even waiting for the other women to respond before she left the tavern at a quick walk.

Sure enough the dust stirred from the ground by the horses still hung in the air as Mirran approached the stable yard. One by one, the knights and their horses came into view, and while there seemed an air of success, there was most certainly a weight of loss and sorrow.

She slipped inside the gate virtually unnoticed for Vanora came rushing in behind her, running straight for Bors. Mirran found Tristan right away, meeting his dark eyes long before reaching him.

"Wonderful to see you again." She said relieved as he smiled lovingly at her, his eyes heavy with loss. "What happened?"

"Berkan." He simply said, his eyes moving from hers to Berkan's hose bearing his lifeless body.

"Oh no." She said quietly, the light in her eyes falling away, replaced by solemn sorrow. Her secret had died with him…now only Tristan knew. And even though Berkan had her worried sick for a time, she still felt sorrow at his loss. Tristan wrapped his hand gently around hers, squeezing it comfortingly. A hand suddenly fell softly on her shoulder, making her quickly turn.

"Mirran."

"Gawain." She said gently, her smile returning.

"Come," Marvlin called quietly, "we go to bury Berkan." All three looked up and noticed a mostly empty stable yard, seeing Bors and Dagonet bear Berkan's body towards the cemetery, followed suite by the others. Silently they turned and followed. Walking side by side, Mirran slipped her hand in Tristan's again as he laced his fingers lovingly in hers. She could not be more thankful for his return. Later, when they would be alone, she would throw her arms around him and pray he would always be granted safe returns home. But she knew deep down that fear would always be there, and that she would in all likelihood have to face the harsh reality of his death in battle. Such a thought terrified and sickened her. Yet as they walked towards the cemetery to bury a fallen one, she could not help but wonder what she would do when the fallen one would be Tristan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The service was solemn, respectful and short. Arthur and his knights as a group were men of few words. And what words were not spoken aloud were said in looks and gestures. After Arthur planted Berkan's sword to mark the head of his grave and Dagonet laid Berkan's shield atop the earth as a permanent reminder of the honor Berkan forever possessed, the knights turned and headed back to the fort.

"Come. Walk with me." Tristan said softly, pulling Mirran by their still interlaced fingers off towards the surrounding woods—the same place their first kiss was shared.

"It is said the dead don't die," she said quietly, "that they stay to watch over us, whispering words of enigmatic guidance."

"Enigmatic guidance…" Tristan repeated, half as a question, half as a statement.

"It's a simple voice on the wind…nothing more," she paused and brought her other hand to his forearm, "listen." Immediately the scout within took over, listening for anything—snapping twigs, the faint thunder of hooves…anything.

"I hear nothing." He answered truthfully.

"Listen harder…and without your mind. It is only trained to hear everything in the world, except the world itself." Looking at her somewhat doubtingly, but knowing somewhere in his heart it was true, he actually tuned out the warnings of his mind and just listened, knowing that for a moment they would be safe.

"What do you hear?" She whispered, her breath tickling his ear. Every sense within him awakened at her simple touch. **'You will find that the world has changed forever.' **

"You will find…," he started slowly, "that the world has changed…forever…" He stopped, expecting more to follow, but nothing else was to be heard.

"Because it has." She simply said, placing an enticing kiss on his cheek before moving away from him.

"Who whispers these words?" He heard himself ask, curious how she knew of their existence and somewhat saddened that she had moved away from him.

"Spirits of the past look on those in the present. Different words come to different people," she answered without hesitation before pausing and smiling fondly, a hand raising to a tree branch, "I imagine it's my mother…guiding me, telling me of things to come. …She speaks now of a kindling flame soon to be ignited." She stopped and stepped around the tree, disappearing momentarily from Tristan's view.

"I still hear the same words—a forever changed world."

"Then you truly fail to see it—guidance is only repeated until the listener believes." She said daringly, inwardly wishing she hadn't said so. Only soft footsteps across the dead earth greeted her listening ears as she bit her lip, fighting to find something to say. "You've heard the wind once, changing your world—and every time you listen without aide of your mind—"

"That requires opening the heart." She turned and met his eyes through the branches.

"No—it appeals to the soul. The very essence of being hears another being."

"That is well, for only you hold the former power." He softly said. She smiled warmly, her love for him plainly visible. She stepped around the tree towards him, feeling his hand fall to gently graze over the stitches in her forehead before moving down her cheek. She leaned towards him, her lips almost to his. _SCREECH!_ She jumped back from him, her breath caught in her throat. Tristan, an amused smirk on his handsome, dark face, stroked the hawk that now sat perched on his arm.

"And I thought we were alone." She said laughingly, stepping back to Tristan's side and gently petting the bird's feathers.

"Never are we alone out here. Always there are eyes…and voices so now I am told." He noticed a somewhat embarrassed smile play across her face before he turned his eyes to the hawk. "What're you doing here, eh? You should be off—it's approaching prime hunting time." He said mock-scolding as the bird looked back at him as though understanding his every word. Without warning, the bird lifted from his arm and disappeared as quickly into the cloudy sky as she had come. Mirran let her eyes fall back to his. Something about this natural environment made her sapphire eyes seem to glow—as though her natural magic lit her eyes in this natural setting. And that cross she always wore, bearing its own sapphire gem, glistened in the woods' surrounding as though it too bore powers beyond the earth.

"Care to see what she sees?" She suddenly asked, turning from him back to the tree she had been looking at earlier. He looked at her curiously, genuinely curious and interested to know just what she meant. Quickly and almost effortlessly she pulled herself up onto a tree branch, before reaching out for another and climbing higher. He watched her easily climb, finding no words to say. "Join me…the view is nice from up here, even if it is cloudy." She said, dangling her legs over a branch and looking down at Tristan.

"I'm fine on the ground." She looked down at him understandingly.

"It took me years to get used to climbing trees," she said, "a branch broke with me on it once…and that about did it for me. But I still love it." She sat on a lower branch, watching him watch her.

"You watch too much…." She said, coking her head to one side and looking at him searchingly.

"And you not enough." He said gently, watching a shocked, surprised look cross her face.

"I watch enough." She said mock angry, swinging down from the branch and landing a few feet from him. "I'll prove it to you—"

"You have nothing to prove to me." He stepped closer and she saw the jest in his eyes. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she turned her head momentarily away from his, trying to brush it off.

"Nothing at all…?" She asked coyly, turning back to him and smiling mischievously. Swiftly and silently, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his warm body. Her breath quickened and she felt warmth emanating from his simple touch throughout her. His lips fell smoothly across hers, a sense of love and need passing between them. Her arms snaked around him as their kiss deepened, the first loving kiss of his return. Suddenly, what had been unnoticeable sprinkles of water, turned into a pouring flow of thick heavy raindrops. Their kiss froze and they pulled apart, both surprised at the suddenness with which this rain had come.

"Perfect…" She said laughingly, raising her eyes skyward. He laughed softly, releasing his arms from around her. She closed her eyes and raised a hand, waving it across her face and letting it swimmingly fall. …nothing.

"The powers that be need the rain here—it cannot be stopped," she turned her eyes back to his as they started back towards the fort, "yes, before you say anything, I believe in a greater power beyond myself," she said seeing the somewhat questioning look in his dark eyes, "and a greater plan for everything and everyone that even magic cannot change."

"Good—I wouldn't have you change anything." He suddenly said, his stoic face alight with a small smile, much to her surprise.

A chilly breeze had quickly followed the onslaught of falling rain and Mirran found her brown cloak to be of no more good to her, as it was drenched and her clothes soaked through. She glanced at Tristan and noticed how well the rain suited his rugged, wild look. With the rain dripping lazily from his long braids and running gently across his skin, he looked even more a man at peace with nature. And while she thought the rain suited him nicely, she was sure she was starting to resemble a drowned rat. Her curls always fell long and mangled, weighed down by the water, and stuck most unflatteringly to her thin face, which Tristan noticed was growing increasingly pale the more they walked in the cold winter rain.

"You look cold." He said quickly, holding her hand in his.

"Well, I'll warm up when we reach the fort…and get out of the rain." She said, feeling some embarrassment creep to her cheeks at the implication of her words. But honestly, it did not matter between them—once she had let him love her, and willingly, eagerly did she wish it again. He returned alive against the odds of death and she longed to have him close as long as that fact held true. He smiled back at her, a flame smoldering in his own eyes, a silent promise resonating as well.

The rain had not even lessened its rapid fall as they entered the fort and quickly wound their way to Mirran's room—the logic being it was the closest place to get out of the rain. And how often did love and logic coincide?

Her sopping wet cloak fell with a splat onto the floor as she shook the sleeves of her dress, sending water flying.

"Ugh—I hate being wet in a dress." She said, annoyed as she pulled the clinging wet folds of the fabric away from her legs. A warm, teasing kiss fell on her neck.

"Try wearing amour in the rain…" He softly said before kissing her again. She smiled and thought on that for a just a minute as she brought a hand up to the side of his face.

"I wouldn't want to." She said, leaning her head back and kissing his cheek. "But you've never worn a dress in the rain."

"No…and if it's as much trouble to put on as it is to take off, then I never would want to." He quickly said, kissing her neck before raising his head level with hers. His hands slid across the wet fabric of her dress as her eyes locked with his, a silent longing swirling about her sapphire eyes. Everything fled her mind—her dripping wet dress, the numbing cold in her fingers and toes—and all she knew was his touch at her hips and the loving want in his eyes. Her hands wrapped around his coat collar pulling him fully against her, lips locking in loving passion. Right away she could feel he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And all she wanted was to be lost in him and have his release. She slid his coat off and began on the ties on his tunic, feeling his fingers move to the laces on her dress as their lips never parted. His tunic soon fell to the floor, her fingers blazing hot trails over his smooth scarred skin and her dress now hung fully loose off one shoulder. Gently he picked her up, her legs wrapping loosely about his hips as he knelt her on the bed and lay down with her, knowing, seeing, and feeling nothing but her.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tristan and Mirran lay side by side, hearts pounding and utterly spent. Her hand lingered on his chest as he held her ever close. She tilted her head upwards and glanced out the window.

"What is it?" He quietly asked, his voice showing a sense of alertness.

"A voice on the wind," She said distantly, "whispering…."

"Of?"

"Of…?" She gently asked him, a slight challenge to her voice, knowing he could hear it too if he listened. His eyes closed for but a second.

"Of…an unnatural peace…and an ugly sort of beauty," he started slowly, his eyes meeting hers as she smiled softly. He leaned closer in and kissed her lips gently as she kissed lovingly back. Their lips parted and her eyes drifted shut as sleep overtook her in the arms of the man she loved.

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yay for love. hope not too overly-romantic or too many errors (didn't have too much time to edit it). review if'n ya want. next chapter will be up soon as possible. 


	11. Ch 11: A morningto a long day

next chapter! thanks a million to all reviewers! enjoy

same warnings & disclaimers apply...

**Chapter 11: An early morning…to a long day**

'_Curse you, Arthur,'_ Tristan thought for the first time ever. Dawn's first light and Arthur was gathering his knights for council—that could only mean trouble was close at hand. Actually Tristan shouldn't be cursing Arthur…_'it's not his fault,' _he realized glumly. His eyes traveled lazily to Mirran who still lay sleeping, glowing softly in dawn's purple light. He had not the heart to wake her. A soft smile played across his face as he watched her and he longed to still be beside her, her soft skin under his fingers. He knelt gently beside her on the bed, brushing a stray curl back and kissing her gently.

"I will find you when the sun sets." He whispered softly before quietly rising, grabbing his sword belt and fastening it about his waist as he left.

XXXXXXXXX

"Good gods Arthur! What the hell're you thinking!" Bors stumbled groggily to his seat around the table as Dedric and Marvlin laughed amusedly. Both felt a twinge of guilt at seeing the knights file around the table, for it had been them on watch since the moon began to fall in the sky that had found the worrisome news. If Arthur had not worry and concern filling his mind, he too would have been laughing.

Galahad sat with his arm propped on the table, his head resting in his hand, eyes closed and snoring faintly. Gawain was next to him, regarding his young friend disbelievingly, a drowsy-alert look on his face. Of them all, Dedric and Marvlin were the most awake, thanks to the graveyard watch shift they had been given. Dagonet sat down silently next to Lancelot who was being drilled by a curious, yawning Svent. Gawain shook his head, laughing silently to himself at the state all the knights were in—this ragged looking bunch of sleepy men were Arthur's famous knights!

"You…" Grenham said, startled at seeing Tristan enter as collected as usual, his exhaustion showing only in his eyes, "we looked for you in your quarters and you were no where to be found—how did you know to come?"

"Grenham," Gawain started as Tristan took his seat between them, "he's a scout—he's ever mindful. Even when he shares another's bed," he smiled knowingly at Tristan, who half smiled back, "he's always listening."

"You all have loud footsteps." Tristan added, his voice revealing his tiredness more than he liked.

"Knights, its good to see you all this morning," Arthur's eyes fell on a still snoring Galahad, whom Gawain instantly elbowed, jerking him awake, "now that everyone is present and awake," Arthur continued good-humoredly, "Dedric and Marvlin on watch received some disturbing news sent early this morning." Arthur held up a single arrow, crude in its refinements, but crafted for deadly accuracy.

"A woad arrow…." Tristan said softly to himself, but also catching the attention of the knights around him.

"It was not aimed at anyone—both knights were visible from the wall's watch platform." Arthur continued.

"It could have been aimed for them, but the archer's shot could have slipped." Svent speculated.

"Woads have deadly aim," Tristan suddenly said, "if they had been sent to kill, Dedric and Marvlin would not be here now."

"Exactly," Arthur said, ignoring the stiffness that seemed to fall over the room at Tristan's comment, "no—whoever sent this arrow, sent it as a message…a warning most likely." He finished somewhat solemnly as a low murmur rose around him.

"Warning us of what?...from what?" Lancelot suddenly asked, looking expectantly at Arthur as the murmur slowly died. Arthur's face remained expressionless as he glanced around at the questioning and anxious look of his knights.

"Knights…I need you all on call today—since we know not the nature of this message. Keep weapons close at hand and report to the watch platform once you've eaten and prepared." At Arthur's last words, the knights rose from the round table, all hopes of returning to warm beds dashed, now replaced with anxiousness and some fear of the day to come.

XXXXXXXXX

"I don't think I've ever seen so ominous a stillness." Gawain casually remarked, catching the wide-eyed attention of Galahad and Svent.

"'So ominous a stillness'…Gawain, you make it sound like we're all going to die." Svent said a nervous edge to his voice.

"That's certainly a possibility." Gawain commented, looking out over the wall at the gray morning.

"Thanks for the positive encouragement," Galahad said, "we all know it's a possibility. We just try not to think on it too much." Svent glanced nervously at Galahad. Even though they were both the same age, Svent still looked to Galahad for encouragement in times of battle.

"Lancelot, what news?" Svent suddenly asked as Lancelot walked by on the watch platform.

"Nothing more than we knew this morning. We sit poised for an attack that could never come or come any second." He said disturbingly, seeing the nervousness grow in Svent's eyes. "But we should be able to see them long before they can do any real damage…besides we're behind solid rock walls. The woads would have a difficult time breaking them down." Lancelot smiled encouragingly, clapping Svent on the shoulder and nodding to Galahad and Gawain before continuing his rounds on the platform.

"I don't understand how clam everyone is. We're idly sitting around waiting for our deaths from something we don't even know is coming or not….how you all remain calm and collected, I'll never know." Svent paused and glanced to his left, seeing Tristan standing still, his gaze fixed solidly ahead. "You most of all—your emotions never seem to change from one situation to the next. Whether it be the pub or the battlefield, you almost always look the same."

"When you're in a situation you can't change one way or another, you learn to deal with it—mostly by not letting anything in the first place." He inwardly blanched at his own words, for he hadn't done that. He had let Mirran in and now she was a definite vulnerability to him. In a way, he hated himself for doing so, yet would not have it any other way.

"Let nothing in at all, Tristan…?" Gawain questioningly asked, his gaze momentarily locked with Tristan's.

"Ideally…but that is not always so. We are, after all, human." Tristan coolly responded.

"He admits it!" Galahad said, a smile forming across his young face. Tristan's head instantly snapped around to face the woods, his eyes narrowed. Arrows were coming…he looked quickly up…sure enough.

"Arrows!" He called out as everyone around looked skyward before ducking under shields. And just that suddenly and silently, battle had come.

XXXXXXX

The woads attacked in full force after that. Arrows constantly raining down had distracted the knights and soldiers from the Woads' hidden endeavor, and with an earth shattering bang, the gates of the fort exploded and broke, letting in streams of Woad warriors. From there it was every Roman and knight for himself as they came down off the watch platform and took to the fort's streets, fighting the rampaging Woads and watching as innocents were cut down, and some buildings set ablaze.

A woad kicked open the door of a closed up building. _'A room of women…only one with a sword,'_ the woad thought, a wicked smile on his face.

"Perfect," he growled, smiling menacingly before hollering something in his native tongue.

Mirran's brow furrowed, confusion and surprise written clearly across her pale face as she tightly gripped the sword. _'These are no Woads…they're Saxons!'_ Two Saxon men, disguised as woads, stormed into the tavern, the first one heading for Magda and Falia, the two newly arrived towards her. Instantly she pitted herself against them, their swords clashing and clanking. A minute—a slash across the chest, a quick jab in the stomach and both Saxon men fell as screams pierced the air. Mirran spun to see Magda fall, and Falia soon followed, run through in her stomach. Mirran flew at the Saxon determined to make him pay for Magda and Falia's death. Even though she'd learned to fight against a man armed with two swords, her skill was no match for the man she now fought against. A moment and his sword cut into her right arm, causing her sword to fall and her arm to snap instinctively to her chest, her face a twisted grimace.

"You didn't honestly think you had a chance against me?" He asked coldly.

"I had to try. I could not let you get away with the death of my innocent friends." She spat, locking her angry eyes with his, moving to brace against the bar.

"Well what will you do once I kill you too? No one to stop me…and you sure as hell can't do anything about it." He stepped closer to her, raising his sword threateningly. She wheeled around, grabbing a heavy clay pitcher and hurled it at his head, despite the screaming pain in her arm. A roar of dull pain erupted from him and she fled from the tavern, desperate to reach the door. A massive, strong hand latched itself to her long curls, yanking her roughly back.

"Bitch—you will pay for that!" He hollered over her scream as he drug her by her hair out of the tavern to the noisy, smoke-filled street. She fell to her knees, yanking her wooden cross from her neck and clutched it tight in her folded hands, whispering silent prayers to whichever deities were listening.

"You believe that will save you?" He suddenly asked much to her surprise.

"Every one believes something will." She simply said, raising her eyes to his.

"Not I. I save myself—I am the only higher power I know. Not anyone—not you, a soldier, my children—no one and nothing is saved by some power beyond, but only by themselves."

"You've a child?" she suddenly, interestedly asked, noticing an unreadable flicker in his eyes. "I am with child as we speak." She softly said. She would know in a week or so for certain—but she just felt it and knew it to be true—she carried Tristan's child. He looked down at her, a confusion on his face—was it true? What if the woman bearing his son was struck down? Should it matter? He swung his sword loosely in his hand, looking away from Mirran. Instinctively she gripped her cross tighter, hoping against hope.

"Rise, lady…."

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oooooo...a cliff-hanger (hopefully...).tune in to the next chapter to find out the outcome (if its not too obvious what happens next). review if'n ya want. next chapter should be up sometime this weekend. thanks again reviewers! 


	12. Ch12: Life anew

thank you so much all reviewers! its because of you guys' supportthat i keep posting each chapter.

alright, next chapter: chapter 12 (how ironic is that: chapter 12 on the weekend my team lost in the Big 12 conference...oh well..). only one more chapter to go after this. enjoy!

**Chapter 12: Life Anew**

Two knights had fallen, as well as many Roman soldiers and peasants. The woads just knew how to hit them this time. Knew the weakness of the fort gate, knew to keep the arrow bombardment going while woads moved into the fort. Tristan, bloody, sweaty and dirty stood somewhat in a daze. The battle had come from nowhere and had just barely been a victory. Just one more fallen knight and the woads might have won. Tristan, Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Dagonet, Bors, Grenham, and Marvlin were now all that remained. What struck them all was the Woads attacking the weaponless, the people of the fort. Some buildings were burning, the gate smashed, smoke polluted the air, and bodies were strewn about. It sickened them all.

The knights walked about the fort, helping those that they could, and surveying the damage done. Lancelot's blood splattered face was a twist of rage, sadness, helplessness—he could not believe they had been so unprepared for the Woads' attack. He thought back to the arrow Arthur had found this morning…and it all made no sense. He saw a woman crying and wailing over the body of a man, presumably her husband, and those feelings surged powerfully through him again.

"gods rest these souls." He said quietly, more to himself, more as a soft plea and prayer. He raised his head and continued surveying, despite searing pain from a sword wound in his arm. He'd been lucky though—compared to many others, his injuries were nothing. Suddenly his breath clenched in his chest, his heart sunk. Dark auburn curls lay mated in the dirt, the pale skin of a face just barely visible, and a dark red stain covering the lower back.

"No…Mirran…." Lancelot took off at a run towards her. He flew to his knees beside her, silently pleading. Her skin felt as cold as ice and no breath issued from her lips. He rolled her gently over onto her back and saw the gaping, still bloody would slicing through her midsection. Lancelot's blood boiled. Too stricken to form thought or word, he looked up, searching for somebody…anybody. Almost immediately he spotted Tristan across the fort. A casual turn of Tristan's head found his eyes locked on Lancelot's overcome eyes, and soon at the figure at Lancelot's knees. Fearing the worst and instantly knowing it to be true in his heart, he broke into a run over to Lancelot, sinking to his knees at Mirran's side, his face a mess of unreadable confusion. Lancelot fought to keep from screaming as he watched Tristan take in her gaping wound and closed eyes that would never open again. He did not even turn around at the heavy footsteps that approached him from behind, not caring who it was.

"Oh gods…." Gawain's soft voice, laced with grief filtered down to Lancelot and Tristan's ears. Tristan had remained unmoving since he'd come to her side. He had promised to find her when the sun set…but then this damned battle—he was supposed to be killed in battle—not her! He closed his eyes tightly and breathed deep, fighting back a growing anger. Slowly, he leaned down to her still face and placed a final loving kiss gently on her lips. Reluctantly, he raised his head, a single tear falling from a dark eye and landing softly on her pale cheek. Only then did Lancelot and Gawain fully understand the lengths at which Tristan loved her, for hardly had he openly kissed her, and never in all the nine years stationed in Britain had any of the other knights ever guessed him capable of crying.

Gawain watched solemnly, feeling involuntary tears springing to his eyes, arms crossed across his chest as Tristan rose from Mirran, his eyes never leaving her. Tristan's eyes sank shut and he breathed deeply as though letting go of every emotion that raged in his heart. A sudden wind picked up, bringing with it a crispness and a cleanness that seemed to wash away the heavy air of battle that hung thickly around them. '**Let me go…I am with you always…tell me now that you hear…tell me now what you see**.' Tristan immediately opened his eyes, scanning all around for something to see. Another sudden gust blew through the fort grounds, brining with it a string of fallen leaves—leaves that should have all been buried in ice and snow or already consumed by the ground. He held out his hand gingerly, feeling their rough yet fragile texture and gentle airiness against his calloused fingers. Just as quickly as the leaves had come, they were gone, leaving them all with just a memory…much as it was with Mirran.

His eyes lowered back to the ground. Instantly he honed in on a curiously shaped blade with unmistakable markings. He moved from Mirran, packing ice around his heart and picked up the abandoned dagger. _'Saxon…we should have known…,'_ he thought darkly and turned to find Arthur, leaving the body that was Mirran behind.

Gawain watched Tristan carefully, noticing him pick up the fallen blade and walk off in another direction, presumably to find Arthur. He turned his eyes once more to Mirran, feeling a tear escape his eye as he knelt down beside her body. He noticed the small wooden cross with a gem the color of her captivating eyes in her loosely clenched hand and could not believe she was gone so easily.

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please don't kill me (braces for impact) and sorry so short! and as i mentioned in the beginning, there is one more chapter that follows this and its a bit more happier. but i love bitter-sweet endings, and this story most certainly has one. 

review if'n ya want. next & final chapter will be up tuseday morning-early-afternoonish. thanks again reviewers!


	13. Ch 13: Life continuing

well for those of you that are still reading this...here's the last chapter. i know i probably broke some rule about killing of the OCbut i was getting tired of all the conventional "they lived happily together" stories..'cause life isn't always like that, but i believe things have ways of working out. hope you enjoy the last chapter and that it makes for a fitting ending.

thanks againto those who have reviewed, who keep reivewing and who will review!

same warnings and disclaimers apply...

**Chapter 13: Life Continuing**

It'd been six years to the day since Mirran was laid in the earth. And from that moment onward, Tristan let himself love no more. He grew even more silent and kept his emotions guarded ever so closely. Even Gawain, whose own quiet nature gave him some insights into Tristan's actions, could no longer read him. The surprising, crushing death of Mirran had clearly changed him, and not necessarily for the better. He honed and fine tuned his fighting skills, in turn becoming even more deadly and determined a killer, yet there was a Zen air about him—as though every move was in keeping with a balance of the world; almost as though lead by an inner force that had every move calculated and all energy summoned to him. None of the knights could really explain it—it was just this air that seemed to fall around Tristan in battles, as though he brought with him a sense of forces beyond anyone in this world's comprehension or knowledge.

He pitted his all in battle now more than ever, his theory being he had nothing really left in this life to live for. Whether it be freedom from service in this world or freedom in death, it all was the same to him. And actually he awaited the day of his death, hoping it would be with honor, and readily willing to accept it whenever it would come, for at that moment he would finally be reunited with Mirran. That day and the chance to face the Saxons were what kept him motivated.

Oh yes, they had soon discovered that their attackers that day were none other than Saxons, disguised as Woads to lead the Romans to war with the Woads, while the Saxons moved to strike, drawing the Romans into two wars at once. No such luck for the Saxons—they may not have had a victory that day those six years ago, but those that retreated fled north and took their stories with them. And now a massive Saxon army was moving southward determined to take the whole island for their own—away from the Romans and Woads alike, killing all in their path.

"We're all going to die someday. If its death by a Saxon had that frightens you—stay home." Tristan had casually remarked upon hearing the knights grumbling about a dangerous mission through Saxon infested country only to secure the safety of one family. And that thought darkly excited him. A chance to get back at those Saxon bastards that killed Mirran.

Every day he was reminded of her, especially now…now as he sat on a hill top with his brothers in arms, overlooking a Saxon army of thousands. Involuntarily his hand rose to a worn wooden cross with a dark sapphire gem in the center—Mirran's.

'**There was no sword or mark of honor to be placed on Mirran's grave. The last shovel full of dirt fell into its place as some of the knights stood silently, before turning to leave. **

"**Tristan." Gawain softly said, approaching the silent, solemn knight whose eyes were cast downward at the mound of earth that would soon be covered in cool green grass. Gawain held out his hand, and Tristan's eyes fell on the delicate, handmade wooden cross that Mirran always wore despite her half-Christian, mostly pagan faith. Without hesitation he took it gratefully from Gawain, nodding appreciatively and turned to walk away as Gawain patted his shoulder in support, a silent thank you passing between them.**

"**She looks forgotten about already." Galahad quietly said as he looked her grave over, waiting for Gawain. Gawain looked at Galahad with his heavy eyes and could not help but agree. Swiftly and gracefully, he pulled his dagger from its sheath and drove it into the ground at her head. And there it had stayed.'**

"Knights," Arthur started regally, "the gift of freedom is yours by right. But the home we seek resides not in some distant land. It's in us! And in our actions on this day! If this be our destiny, then so be it. But let history remember that as free men, we chose to make it so."

The battle had begun. Each knight found himself swarmed by Saxons. Tristan, having spent his supply of arrows expertly well, flew from his horse into the thick of battle. Not soon after he disposed of Saxons half his skill level did he spy the Saxon leader, Cerdic, standing alone, sword at the ready. Tristan moved towards him, always liking the looks of a good fight. Not even a minute and Tristan had cut down Cerdic's second in command who moved to guard his commander.

Tristan threw off his helmet to get a better look at his opponent. Cerdic's eyes locked with Tristan's, both issuing unspoken challenges and silent promises. Instantly their swords clashed, each pitting his all into battle. Cerdic swung around and sliced Tristan's side. Only a moment's recognition crossed the knight's face before lunging back at the waiting Saxon.

Tristan knew this man was larger and stronger than he from the start, but never could he back down from a challenge. He parried a blow and Cerdic recoiled, suddenly thrusting forward, slashing and banging Tristan twice, forcing the knight to his knees. But Tristan, doubled over in pain, hating the weakness of his flesh, kept his sword ever pointed and raised to the Saxon. He attempted to rise again, determined not to lose. Cerdic inwardly smirked, loving the wounded state this brave and gallant knight with the nerve to fight him was in. He brought his sword around and into Tristan's sword arm, watching the knight's sword fall with pride, before forcing the knight to his knees once again.

Tristan knew he was losing—anger, shame, rage consumed him, but weaponless and injured in body, he found himself powerless. Cerdic looked at the crawling, ground-hugging knight in glee, honing in on something small and wooden hanging from the knight's neck. Cerdic's eyes momentarily widened before narrowing evenly.

"That cross about your neck…I have seen that before…," Cerdic stood over Tristan's sword, watching the knight listen, "some whore in a Roman post tavern held it tight in her fist, believing something so simple would save her…her and her child." Cerdic filled with glee at seeing the knight stiffen before continuing, "she was with child…or so she claimed, but necessity is necessity. The order was spare no one, so instead of a quick clean death; a more painful, non-instant death was deserved for both mother and child." Instantly he kicked Tristan's sword to him, watching his hand clench the grip in rage. Tristan immediately moved, trying to get his feet. Cerdic smiled maliciously and struck Tristan back down to the ground, now taking the fallen, curved Sarmatian blade in his hand.

This was perfect—a knight in anguish and powerless to fight back. Tristan coursed with anger both at the Saxon and himself—Mirran's murderer and he found his body injured and unresponsive. Cerdic marched towards the knight, who riddled in shame and anger was slinking away to whatever end. Tristan felt himself roughly pulled back and jerked to his knees—the prefect chance. One swift movement and the Saxon hollered in sudden pain as Tristan drove his hidden dagger into Cerdic's thigh. Cerdic pulled his sword back, reeling in anger and pain, and sent it straight through Tristan's torso.

Released, Tristan sunk to his back, overcome by his screaming mind, yelling at his body to do things it was incapable of. A distant hawk's screech filtered down to his ears and he saw her soaring fully across the sky, living on in her freedom, a reminder of things to come in this life and beyond. Suddenly every thought left him, an unfettered peace fell about him. As though that indifferent mask he always wore was now the reality of his soul.

Cerdic was convinced the knight would die where he lay—his work was done. That was until he spotted Arthur. A maliciously evil glint came to the Saxon's eyes and he pulled a near-to-death Tristan to his feet. Turning around, he stared pointedly at Arthur until Arthur held his gaze. Without warning, Cerdic swung his sword high and around, cutting Tristan down forever. Tristan fell back against the blood stained earth, his body having breathed its last, his soul free.

XXXXXX

Lancelot had joined him. Arthur's most trusted knight, friend and confidant. It shocked them all that Lancelot and Tristan—two of the more highly skilled knights—were the ones struck down.

Lancelot's ashes had been dutifully and sullenly gathered by Arthur who waited for the right day to set them free. Tristan's curved sword rested at the head of his grave, forever identifying him as a gallant, skilled, honorable knight. His unusual armor from his eastern Sarmatian tribe lay atop his gave, forever a reminder of his sacrifice in battle. Gawain looked over his friend's gave, sighing silently and shaking his head. He raised his eyes from Tristan's grave and immediately they wandered to Mirran's. He softly smiled before letting his eyes roam skyward.

"Lucky devils." He muttered, shaking his head laughingly, his smile turning more mischievous, content and knowing. Mirran and Tristan were now both home and finally together. He moved away from their graves, hoping someday he too would have something like that to look forward too—that they all would. And that, only time would tell. Only time would tell.

end.

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well that's it. that's all i got. hopefully a fitting ending to a fitting tale. we'll see...thanks to all who stuck with it and kept reading and reviewing. no clue when another story will be ready for posting.. but it'll be sometime. 

thanks again!


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